The Things Kids Do
by McCarthy Punk
Summary: Casefile. There's been a kidnapping, and someone close to Greg begins to look pretty guilty. It's up to the CSIs to clear her name, and find the victim. FINISHED
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own no characters other than my originals and Greg…ok, ok, so I only own a Greg doll/action figure that my aunt made me as a grad gift…he looks spiffy in his jeans, wacky shirt, and lab coat though…he sits on the shelf above my desk in the dorm room next to his little microscope and whispers sweet nothings into my ear…heh heh…

Author's Note: Ok, some facts may be off, i.e. I know in one of the episodes Grissom's anthropologist friend said most people of Nordic descent are blondes, and it's probably true, but my grandfather's from Norway, and he was a carrottop (before his hair turned white, lol), so I'm going with that…I recently watched a repeat of the episode when Greg mentions that his grandfather told him "one must lie in the bed one has made" after he got shunned because he got a woman pregnant before marriage, and before I came to NYU, my grandpa told me how to say "Would you like a quickie in the bushes?" in Norwegian…lmao, mein Opa is a dirty old man, but he rocks...he's hoping I hook up with some Norwegian foreign exchange student…also, I know Greg's sister's name is odd, but I'll explain later…some of you more savvy readers can probably pick up on it though…also, review…you can leave flames if you want, I don't care…I'll use 'em to toast marshmallows for me and Greg…more sanitary than using a Bunsen burner…alright, enough talk, let's rock and roll!

Dedications: This is dedicated to my girl, Taren, whom I based Faraday on along with myself because the two of us rock our faces off…Taren, you're such a smart-ass and that's one of the things I love about you, ya skank!  Wish you were at NYU…but it's only, like, a twenty mile drive, so get your ass over here and let me introduce you to some skater boys! lol

By the way, the case file will be coming up around chapter three; I have to establish some background first.

KAPITEL EINS

            Greg Sanders stood in the shower letting the hot water course over him.  His little sister had moved in two weeks ago, and she'd wasted no time encroaching upon his space…well, what _used_ to be his space.  He only had one bathroom in his apartment, so they had been forced to share.  Herbal Essences Fruit Fusions shampoo now rested next to his store brand, a Gillette Venus razor hung next to his Mach 3 on the shower caddy, and melon-smelling shaving gel sat on the edge of the tub.  He still found it surprising whenever he found a rogue bra of hers that had escaped and lay huddled up against the side of the dryer after she'd done a load of laundry.

            Greg hadn't seen her since she was eight and he was twenty-one and in his last year of college.  Faraday had been a complete surprise to his parents; his mother was taking a birth control pill that was ninety-seven percent effective.  Well, in late 1987, his mother plunged right into that three percent error and ended up giving birth to Faraday Ramsay Sanders on June 21, 1988.  He was quite surprised to see how much she'd changed even though it had been seven years.  The straightness of her body had given way to subtle curves.  She wore low-rise black Dickies, black Converse All-Stars, and a semi-tight black Romones shirt.  Her brown hair was littered with auburn strands (which she got from her and Greg's Norwegian side of the family) and was razor-cut at her chin, straight, and tousled about her head.  He couldn't believe that she, at fifteen, could look so grown-up, and yet, he smiled, because if looks were any indication, she'd turned out like him: quasi-punk.  However, he already knew he didn't share his sister's attitude.  While he dressed in jeans and outrageous shirts to work, played loud music in the DNA lab, and cracked jokes every chance he got, he wasn't into outright defiance.

            When he's last spoken to his mother, she'd briefed him about Faraday's rebelliousness and behavioral problems, and this, coupled with their father's increasing health problems, made her feel as if a mental breakdown was coming on.  She asked him if he'd keep Faraday for a while, until she could sort everything out.  He'd asked her why she though living with him would do any good; she told him that maybe Faraday needed to live with somebody younger than her and his father, somebody who was "streetwise."

            "'Streetwise', Mom?  What do you think I do for a living?  Scam people?"

            "You know what I mean, somebody who can keep up with everything she tries to pull.  You've pulled every trick in the book, Greg; you'll use good judgment when dealing with her.  I have faith in you."

            "Thank you, Mom, but I'm a twenty-eight year old bachelor; we don't exactly make the best parents.  I mean, I basically live off of frozen dinners and frosted cheerios, and I've got a bathroom that could yield more evidence than a severely botched crime scene."

            "Please, Greggy.  I know it's a lot to ask, but will you do this for me?"

            Greg was silent for a moment.

            "Of course, Mom.  I would never say 'no' to you."

            "Then come out and see us."

            "Dad doesn't want to see me."

            "Of course he does."

            "Do you not remember the infamous Christmas of '96?  How he screamed at me to choose a 'credible career like a doctor as opposed to a low-life lab tech'?"

            "The argument was not as bad as you make it out to be."

            "Mom, the yelling got so bad we scared Faraday and made her cry."

            "Alright, Greg, alright, I don't want to argue with you.  Let's end this conversation on a good note.  Thank you for taking your sister into your home, and I love you, Greggy."

            "I love you too, Mom."

            And so it was.  He'd moved his foosball table out of the spare room and crammed it into the corner of the living room.  He didn't really play it unless one of the guys came over; Lord knows he was doing something far better when he brought ladies home.  One time, when he'd been so tired but couldn't go to sleep, he'd given the little men first and last names, but he'd forgotten them…he would've thought of himself as highly weird with no life had he remembered.  

            He had picked up Faraday at the airport and paid for the movers to lug furniture and such up six flights of stairs to the third floor because his apartment building had no elevator.  And the sad thing was, after he'd done all that for her, and he'd entered his sister's new room because he wanted to catch up with what had been going on at home and at school, he was rewarded with a slamming of the door to his face.  He'd thought of charging in there; the door didn't have a lock, and he was angry that she wasn't more grateful.  But he didn't.  _Give her time, he thought._

            Greg had also thought that allowing her to move in might get his apartment cleaned up.  Who knew?  Maybe she was a neat freak.  No such luck.  She was just as much of a lazyass as he was, and so the apartment became more cluttered.  He was going to have to lay a few ground rules about chores and such…but, when he did, he would have to abide by them as well.  For instance, no more letting dishes pile up in the sink, and no drinking straight from the orange juice carton.  After taking a couple of days off of work to get her situated and acclimated, he was back at the crime lab.

            Greg entered the break room to pour himself a cup of coffee.

            "I see you're drinking from _my pot," he told Nick._

            "Hey, you heard Grissom.  You use his water, it becomes a community pot.  Besides, didn't your mom ever teach you how to share?"

            "Sorry, I'm trying to find a new state of normal for my life; I'm a bit cranky."

            "Yeah, how goes the parenting gig, anyway?" Nick drawled.

            Greg gave him a sideways look.

            "Yesterday she plowed through an entire large, thin crust pizza."

            "So?" Nick asked as if that wasn't out of the ordinary.

            Greg took a sip of his coffee.  "Dude, she's not built like me or you.  She's like a five foot five, a hundred-and-one pound garbage disposal.  She washed that pizza down with two bottles of strawberry milk."  

            "Strawberry milk and pizza?  That's weird," Nick stated as if it were fact.

            "That's what I told her."                        

            "But I'm not surprised."

            Greg gave him a confused look.  "Huh?"

            "She's a Sanders; I wouldn't expect anything less."

            Greg narrowed his eyes and made a fake laughing noise.

            "But seriously dude, she's the black sheep of the family.  The only lefty out of a family of righties; blue eyes when everybody else has brown, that sorta thing.  Technically, our great-grandfather was a lefty, so she could've inherited it from him, and, also, technically, two brown-eyed parents can have a blue-eyed child, but for all intents and purposes of my point—"

            "Whoa," Nick said cutting him off.  "Flashback to high school Bio, which I failed and had to take during summer school.  Don't sweat the eating thing; my sisters spend hundreds of dollars a month on groceries for their families.  It's normal for growing kids to eat a lot."

            "Yeah, well, she's going to eat me right out of a home." 


	2. Kapitel Zwei

KAPITEL ZWEI 

Author's Note: When I typed it up in Word the chemical formula looked like it was supposed to, with the numbers in subscript, but when I uploaded it into the document manager at FF, it changed it, so, it's not a typo or anything; it's just my computer or FF being gimpy…

"Ok, everybody, your career papers are due; please pass them to the front."

            Faraday had been up all night writing that paper.  It's not that it had taken her very long to decide who to write about; she had a forensic lab technician in the room next to her.  Greg had the most interesting job out of anyone in her family; he took evidence collected by crime scene investigators and turned it into something useful.  He caught the bad guys and put them behind bars.  He was, in essence, a superhero.  No, it wasn't deciding what to write about or putting the right words down on paper that caused her to stay up until 2:30 in the morning; it was designing, drawing, and coloring the perfect cover.

            This was her last class of the day, and, even though they were reading Much Ado About Nothing and Shakespeare was one of Faraday's favorite authors, she was constantly shifting in her seat waiting for the bell to ring.  Seven hours a day was just too much time to spend sitting in a desk!  Finally, the bell rang, and she was off to meet her friend, Blake Abraham who was going to help her study for the Chemistry test the two had coming up, at the Southside parking lot.  

            "Hey!" a girl with a crimson-dyed, spiky do called out.

            "Hey hey," Faraday greeted.

            Both girls carried their skateboards.

            "So, am I going to try and teach you this shit before the test?"

            "No, I figured I'd just come over, mooch some food, and leave," Faraday told her.

            "You do that, like, everyday," Blake quipped.

            Faraday rolled her eyes.  "I'm going to come over after dinner, and you can go over your notes with me."

            The two started off towards Blake's house and Greg's apartment.  When they got to the street corner where they had to split off, they paused.

            "Bring your notes too, ok?"

            "I don't take notes."

            Blake sighed, and they skated off in their opposite directions

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        

            After a dinner of two cups of Ramen noodles and a Hot Pocket, Faraday found herself up in Blake's tree house playing a game called "name that chemical compound."

            "Ok, if you had H2SO4, what would you have?" Blake asked reading off of her Chemistry study notes.

            Faraday took a swig of Coke.  "Um, I dunno, sugar," she guessed.

            Blake snorted.  "Put sugar like this in your coffee, and you'll put a hole in your mouth.

            "That would suck; you'd have food all over your clothes," Faraday commented allowing her mind to wander from her Chemistry test that loomed ahead tomorrow.

            "You live with a guy who majored in Chemistry; how can you be so _bad_ at it?" Blake asked incredulously.

            "Greg is usually sleeping when I get home or out gallivanting around with some girl."

            Faraday chugged the last fourth of the Coke bottle, let out a satisfying belch, and set it on the ground beside the beanbag she was laying on and sighed contentedly.

            "And the majority of the foods you eat come from the sugar and fats group of the pyramid; how the hell do you stay rail thin?" Blake, who was a health nut, demanded.

            "God game me an A-cup and no ass; I think it's only fair He gives me a metabolism that's through the roof.  You're way ahead of me over there even with your B-cup.  You've got a better shot with the guys than I do."

            "Yeah," Blake answered weakly and giving a small smile.

            "What?"

            "It's just…" Blake trailed off.

            "It better not be because you don't think you're pretty."

            "No, it's not."

            "Good, because you're beautiful," Faraday told her, popping a sour gummi worm into her mouth.

            Blake looked at her, and then moved down to sit on the edge of the beanbag.

            "Faraday, I…I like girls," she said quietly.

            Faraday swallowed the gummi worm slowly and looked at her friend.

            "So?"

            Blake blinked.  "This doesn't change anything?"

            "No, why should it?  Blake, you're my best friend; nothing's going to change that.  What kind of friend would I be if I wasn't your friend because of your sexual orientation?  Besides, more guys for me," she said grinning.

            Blake laughed and looked at Faraday.

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *              

Faraday came barreling into the apartment, threw her skateboard by the door, and headed to her room.  Greg sat up from his reclining position on the couch where he was listening to music, taking it easy before he had to head to work.

            "Faraday?  How was studying?" he called.

            "Good," came a flat reply followed quickly by the slam of a door.

            Greg got up and knocked softly on her door.  When his sister didn't answer, he opened it a crack.  He saw her sprawled on her bed, face down, laying on her pillow, her face turned away from the door.

            "Faraday?"

            "I've got to get a lock for that door," she mumbled from her position on the bed.

            "Are you ok?" Greg asked.

            "Fine, I'm just beat.  It's been a long day."

            "Are you coming down with something?" he asked coming around to face her and putting a hand to her forehead.  She turned away.

            "I'm fine, Greg; can you leave me alone?"

            "Faraday, I—"

            "It's that time of the month, Greg; I've got cramps, and I'm very irritable!" she snapped cutting him off.

            "Oh," he said meekly.

            That wasn't the truth; she wasn't having her period.  She just said that to keep her big brother off of her case, knowing he wouldn't dare tread into that kind of territory, especially not where his sister was concerned.  The phone started to ring, so he jogged into the living room and picked it up.

            "Yo, this is Greg," he greeted.

            "Mr. Sanders?"

            "That'd be moi."

            "This is Mrs. Cabellero, Faraday's English teacher," she explained.

            Greg cleared his throat and tried to conjure up an air of adultness.  "Oh, uh, is there a problem?"

            "No, not at all; I called to tell you that Faraday is doing very well.  Today, my students turned in papers they had written on somebody who they thought had an interesting job, and your sister wrote about you."

            "Really?" Greg asked with genuine surprise.

            "Yes, at first I thought she'd misunderstood the assignment and had written a fictional story because she titled it 'The Adventures of Lab Man' and even drew a picture for the cover depicting a guy in a lab coat and gloves armed with a microscope and what looks like an eyedropper," Mrs. Cabellero explained with a chuckle.  "Anyway, the reason why I called you was I would like you to be one of our speakers for Career Day on Wednesday of next week; that is, if you're not busy."

            "Ah, well," he said trying to decide whether Faraday would want him to show up at her school.  He finally decided it wouldn't hurt if he agreed to give a three-minute talk on what he did for a living.  "Sure, I can do that."

            "Oh, that's wonderful; class starts at 1:20, so if you can come just a few minutes earlier, that'd be great."

            "Sure, I'll be there."

            "Oh, Mr. Sanders, just out of curiosity, where did your parents come up with Faraday's name?  It's very interesting."

            "Well, actually, I'm the one who named her.  See, all of the doctors kept telling my mother she was going to have a baby boy, but I knew I was going to be given a little sister.  So I made a bet with my mom that if I was right and all the doctors were wrong, then I could name her, and, of course, I had this obsession with Chemistry, so I named her after Michael Faraday and William Ramsay.  I mean, I wielded so much power; how could I not use it?" Greg asked rhetorically.

            "That is a most interesting story Mr. Sanders," Mrs. Cabellero answered laughing.  "Well, thank you for agreeing to be one of our Career Day speakers; I think the students will find your occupation fascinating."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thanx to my reviewers on my first ever CSI fic!

colored pink: I haven't really considered putting a romance in; I feel it would complicate things too much…I have considered Greg/Sara because he had such a crush on her in the second season, and he deserves to get what he wants, but I don't think there's going to be any romance.  And I hate Mary Sues, so believe me, I read and reread everything I write, and change it around if it makes me sick, lol

Sandersgirl: What a great name you've chosen…I'm glad Faraday is growing on you.  I hope you keep reading my fic and reviewing.

SuperKevsLass: I'm glad you think it's looking good!  I hope you keep reading and reviewing.

Ok, I'm going to try to keep updating fairly regularly, but college keeps me so much more busier than high school.  Although, most of my classes are acting or film stuff; it still takes a lot of time.  However, I have most of the core pieces in this fic written; I've been formulating this idea since second semester of my senior year in high school.


	3. Kapitel Drei

Author's Notes: Guys, I know I have it where anonymous people can post, but I only have that on so people who want to flame me can be pussies and not post under their name; I really like it when people who have good and constructive things to say put their names so I can personally thank them.  So, whoever posted under the ellipses, I'm glad you like it, but I wish I knew your name, lol

dakFinv: Yep, I'm in Tisch.  I'm glad you like it; thanx for reviewing!  What are you majoring in at CAS?

Anyways, come hither, children, and let me continue the tale…

KAPITEL DREI

            Faraday didn't like the way she'd left things at Blake's.  Because Mr. Van Horn, their Chemistry teacher, preferred to seat people in alphabetical order, they were on opposite sides of the room from each other (Blake's last name being Abraham and Faraday's being Sanders), so they couldn't talk about what went down last night.  She should probably be glad that she wasn't able to sit next to Blake because Mr. Van Horn would probably yell at her more than he already did.  His favorite thing to tell her was, "You have been bequeathed the names of two famous chemists, yet you fail to possess or even _learn the science of chemistry."  Yeah, and he'd been "bequeathed" the personality of a jackass.  _

            She hastily wrote a note and stuck it in her pocket to give to Blake after class.  They didn't have time to talk after class because Faraday had to get to her English class which was all the way at the opposite end of the school upstairs.  She and Blake didn't have any other classes together.  Blake was in all of the upper level honors classes, and the only reason why she was in regular Chemistry was because she couldn't fit an honors level Chemistry into her schedule.

            Mr. Van Horn began to pass out their chemical compound tests.

            "I'm interested in what your answers are going to be on this test," he told Faraday as he gave her a test packet.

            "With any luck, I'll get a hundred and you'll get a coronary," she muttered under her breath.  

            After fifty minutes of pencil tapping and erasures, it was time to hand in her test.  She knew HCl was hydrochloric acid, and that H2SO4 was _not _sugar, but was it sulfuric acid or _hydrosulfuric acid?  To compensate, she wrote "sulfuric" and then penciled in "hydro" very lightly in front of it; that way, if he marked it wrong because it __wasn't hydrosulfuric acid then, she could say she erased it, and if it __was hydrosulfuric acid and he marked it wrong, she could say she'd written it down._

            As the bell rang, she noticed how Blake tried to rush out of the classroom before Faraday could get to her, but the girl caught her friend by the arm.

            "Wait," Faraday said handing her the note.

            "Thanks," Blake said as she turned and walked away.

            Faraday sighed and headed for her next class.  Had she blown the only friendship she had?

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        

            Gil Grissom stood outside of the Abraham's residence, the blue and red lights of the surrounding police cars creating a strobe light effect on the fresh crime scene.  Warrick Brown was carefully going over the front yard, the edges of the house, and the front porch, Catherine Willows was in the teenager's bedroom, Nick Stokes and Sara Sidle were combing the backyard, and he was sitting in the Tahoe with Blair Abraham, Blake's twelve-year-old sister.

            Grissom had taken her to the Tahoe because it was a cold night, and all the girl was wearing were light pajama pants and a T-shirt, so the two now sat with the heater blasting.

            "Can you tell me what you saw tonight?" he asked notepad and pen ready.

            "I-I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I opened the door to the hall, I saw this guy heading into my sister's room.  I screamed, and he went into Blake's room and the next thing I know, she's gone," the preteen explained shakily.

            "Did he come after you after you screamed?"

            "No, he just kind of glanced at me and went into my sister's room."

            Grissom found that extremely odd.  Wouldn't a kidnapper try and shut up a screaming girl?

            "Did you try and go after the kidnapper?"

            Blair gave him a look that told him she thought that was a stupid question.

            "No, this guy was huge.  Tall _and _wide.  Looked like a walking refrigerator." 

            "Do you know anybody who would want to harm your sister?"

            "No," Blair said shaking her head.  "I mean, she's not Ms. Popular over at the high school, but she wouldn't piss anyone off so much that they'd want to kidnap her," Blair told him as tears rolled down her face leaving trails that glinted in the flashing lights

            "Where are your parents?" Grissom asked.

            "Our mom passed away three years ago, and our dad is on a business trip.  I called him and told him what happened; he's catching the next flight in from Chicago."

            "Ok, thank you," Grissom told her in a soft voice.  "You've been a big help."

            Warrick Brown shone his flashlight around looking for anything that seemed remotely out of place.  He looked closely at the jamb of the front door.  It wasn't a forced entry, so either the intruder had a key or was let in by somebody.  He photographed it and then began to dust for prints on the doorknob.  He lifted some, but if his gut feeling was correct, they were just the fingerprints of Mr. Abraham, Blair, and Blake.

            He hadn't seen any shoeprints in the yard.  His guess was the kidnapper walked directly up the stone path leading to the front door.  He'd heard from Grissom that there was no ransom note, which was a bad sign.  That usually meant the kidnapper had something more sinister in mind for his victim.  Warrick had lifted some shoeprints from the linoleum floor of the kitchen; he matched all but two to the shoes in the closets of the three family members, so that, at least, gave him a lead.  He decided to see how Catherine was doing in her territory.

            "Hey," he called from the door.  "Got anything?"

            "Prints from the doorknob, but they could just be the girl's, a piece of cloth caught on the windowsill, looks like it came from a shirt or pajama pants maybe, and a piece of blue fuzz.  What about you?"

            "Got a bunch of prints off the front door, but I doubt if we can get anything from them.  Even if we could, they're probably all from the Abrahams.  I lifted several shoeprints from the kitchen floor, and two don't match.  The front door wasn't forced open."

            "Interesting," Catherine said raising her eyebrows.

            "Start climbing up into that tree house," Nick Stokes told his teammate Sara Sidle.

            "Why don't you do it?"

            "Those boards would never hold me."

            "Looks like somebody too heavy already tried to make their way up there," Sara told him looking at a place where one of the boards had broken off.

            "Could've been just a weak piece of wood," Nick said.

            Sara photographed it.  "Maybe; maybe not."

            "Look at those boards carefully before you start touching and stepping all over them," Nick commanded.

            "Thanks for telling me because I was born yesterday," Sara quipped before she started her ascent.  Nick gave her a small smile.

            Sara got up to the entrance.

            "Man, you've got to be pretty thin to get into this thing…and not very well endowed, either, if you know what I mean," she called as she wriggled her way into the tree house.  Once inside she shone her flashlight around; she noticed there was no roof to the tree house. 

            "I've got blood," she shouted down to Nick.  "And fingerprints."

            Sara guided her flashlight over the wooden floor.

            "And a blue fuzzy thing," she called as she collected it with tweezers and bagged it.

            Once the five criminalists had gone over the crime scene thoroughly, they congregated near the two Tahoes they'd driven in.  Each one in turn reported on their findings, and Grissom reiterated what Blair had told him.     

            "As soon as we get back, Warrick, I want you on those shoeprints and fingerprints.  Sara, give the blood to Greg for analysis, the fingerprints to Mandy, and you and Catherine figure out where that blue fuzz is from.  Nick, help Warrick out with the shoeprints and fingerprints he collected.  I'm going to inform Brass about the case.  The lack of a ransom letter could mean we have a homicide on our hands."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Finally, the game's afoot!  I feel better now that I've got everybody in the picture.  I know that the whole team probably wouldn't work a kidnapping, but I couldn't think of another casefile to put in here.  I promise my next fic will be more thought out.  But I'd like to think the team would all help out on the case since it's Greg's sister's best friend, and so forth.  Also, I apologize for any factual errors, like the types of tools they use, or procedures they go through.  I'm going to try and look stuff up on the internet in the future.


	4. Kapitel Vier

Once again guys, danke for the reviews; I should be reading for class, but look what I'm doing.  I'm updating a story for you guys because you rock my face off!  lmao…anyways, on with the show…

dakFinv: Science dorks are hip :).  Just look at the one on CSI, lol

Sandersgirl: Yeah, Faraday can be kind of a prick towards him, but they're siblings…I'm eighteen and my bro's twenty-three and we just now begin to get along, lol…

HarmZuay: Cool name and interesting way of spelling it…it didn't remind me of anything in the English language, at first, so I was like, "I need to turn that into a word" but after saying it, like, ten times, I was like, "Nah, it's 'harm's way'" (yeah, my roommate was like, "What the hell are you doing?")…I'm a tad slow…that's why I'm majoring in theatre and not anything that takes real brains, lmao…anyways, glad you like it; thanx for reviewing!

Lamborga: Thanx for reading and reviewing!

Charlie: I will keep writing if you keep reading :)!

KAPITEL VIER

            "DNA results back on the blood Sara found in the tree house; I can't say whose it is because I don't have a sample to compare it to, but I can tell you it came from a female," Greg announce entering Grissom's office. 

            "Blake's?" Grissom asked more so to himself than anyone.

            "I hope not, but it's possible."

            Their discussion was interrupted by Mandy, another lab tech.

            "Grissom, I've got the results back on the prints in the blood; AFIS spit back a match."

            "And?" he asked when she didn't go on.

            The young woman looked at Greg uneasily.  "Sir, I think it'd be better if I spoke with you alone."

            Greg frowned and looked at Grissom and then turned back to Mandy.  "What?  You find my prints in the blood or something?" he asked jokingly.

            Mandy didn't say anything.

            "Mandy, Greg's working the case too; just tell us what you found."

            Mandy handed over the piece of paper to Grissom.

            "Prints are Faraday Sanders'," she explained quietly.

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        

            "Faraday, komm hier, bitte."

            The girl looked up from her German work (writing simple sentences like "Mein Bruder liebt Chemie am besten") with a confused look, but she went and got the note the office runner had sent her.

            "'Gather your things, and stop by and see your brother at the office'," she snorted.  "The office…"

            She put her books and papers away and stopped by her locker to gather up even more books.  While her locker was open, she chose to root around amongst the crumpled pieces of paper at the bottom and look to see if Blake might have dropped a note to her through the slots.  Faraday frowned and swung the locker door shut with a bang when her search came up fruitless.  She was slightly angry with her friend; she'd written a sincere note of apology, and Blake hadn't even bothered to drop a reply into her locker before first period started.

            By the time she'd gathered everything she thought she'd need for her homework, the light drizzle that had been present that morning when she'd arrived at school was now an onslaught of angry rain.  She scowled at the seniors who had early leave as they passed by in their cars.

            "Must be nice having a dry, heated mode of transportation," she sighed as she started off on her skateboard.

             She entered the crime lab, her navy shirt and corduroy pants dripping.  She noticed how the red fabric of her Converses had bled, and her white shoe laces were now tinted pink around the edges.  The green Puma jacket she wore was no match for the buckets that had rained from the sky, and the sleeves now left thin water trails on opposite sides of her.  Her hair hung in annoying strands around her face; she could only hope the "drowned rat" look was in.  She stopped outside of the DNA lab.

            "I'm here to see the CEO of the office," Faraday announced sarcastically, holding up the now soggy note.

            Greg smirked.  "You got my message."

            She came in and plopped herself in one of the vacant chairs, but immediately found herself being pulled out of it by Greg.

            "Hey!  You're soaked; don't sit on the chairs!  You're not even supposed to be in here anyways," he said putting and hand on her shoulder and guiding her out of the lab.

            "It's pouring out there!  My only mode of transportation is a skateboard; maybe if I could get my brother to spring for a Vespa—"

            Greg cut her off with a "don't push it" look.

            "What am I even doing here?  Why pull me out of class in the middle of the day?"

            All signs of joking were gone from Greg's face now.  "Grissom wants to speak with you," he told her solemnly.

            "Grissom?" she asked confused.  "What?  Does he have a bone to pick with the name I chose for his tarantula?" she joked not picking up on Greg's seriousness.

            Faraday found that, during their banter, Greg had guided her to an interrogation room, and she saw that Grissom and Catherine were sitting on one side facing the doorway.

            "What's this?" she asked her demeanor growing wary.

            "Have a seat," Grissom told her.

            "I'm staying," Greg spoke up just to clarify why he'd taken a seat next to his sister.

            "Greg, she's a minor; you're required to stay," Grissom informed him.

            Greg nodded his understanding.

            "Ah, you know a Blake Abraham, correct?" Grissom asked not knowing how to approach an interrogation of a friend's relative.

            Grissom didn't want to think she could have a hand in anything this awful, but leads were leads and they needed to be followed.  And he needed to stay objective.  Still, this was the kid who'd sat in his office not a week ago and named his pet tarantula.  When he'd asked why she'd chosen Ramesses II, she'd replied with a simple, "Because he was a powerful Egyptian ruler, and he had red hair like your spider here."  That was a good enough explanation for him even if he'd never had a spider named Ramesses I.

            "Yeah, she's my best friend; why?"

            Not knowing any easier way to tell her Grissom just came out and explained.  "Blake was…kidnapped last night."

            "What?!  D'you have any leads or suspects or clues or anything!" she cried getting hysterical.  She started to cry.  "I was expecting a note from her today, but there wasn't one in my locker.  I was mad at her because I thought she just didn't write me; I didn't know she was in trouble!"

            "Hey," Greg said putting a hand on the back of her head and looking at her eye to eye.  "Everybody's all over this case; we're all doing everything we can," he said trying to give her some assurance.

            She nodded, breathing deeply and trying to calm down.

            "Faraday, what size shoe do you wear?" Catherine asked carefully.

            "Seven and a half," she answered sniffing.

            "Can I check?" Catherine asked pulling out the sheet of paper with the shoeprint on it.  She checked it against the girl's shoes and turned to Grissom.  "Same size; same sole."

            "We found your shoeprints on the kitchen floor of the house," Grissom informed her.

            "I'm her best friend; I've been inside her house," the teenager explained getting angry now that she realized she was under suspicion.

            Both Grissom and Catherine had to concede that was a very likely possibility as to why her prints had been lifted.  But there was still the blood.

            "Your fingerprints were also found in blood on one of the walls of the tree house," Catherine stated not liking where this evidence was taking them.

            "I've been up there too; like I said, I'm her best friend.  It's not rocket science."

            "In blood," Catherine reiterated.

            "It's my blood," Faraday answered as if Catherine were slow to understand.  "Me and Blake skateboard all the time, and it's not like it's the safest activity out there; I fell and got some pretty severe roadrash.  When we got up into the tree house, I propped it up on a stool and grabbed onto it because it hurt, and it was bleeding.  I lost my balance and fell back against the wall."

            _Boy, can she spin a load of bull, Catherine thought.  _

            "May we see this 'roadrash'?" Grissom asked.

            Faraday propped her foot up on the table with a thud and yanked up the leg of her brown corduroy pants revealing a long series of scrapes surround by faint shades of blue and purple along the side of her right leg.

            "Would you volunteer a sample of your DNA for comparison?"

            She hesitated for a moment but eventually opened her mouth.

            Grissom and swabbed it and headed for the door.

            "Grissom, don't you want me to process it?" Greg asked.

            "You can no longer work this case, Greg; you'd compromise it."

            The younger man nodded his understanding, and then turned to his sister.  "Come on; let's go home.  Maybe we can stop by Baskin Robbins or something on the way."

            "Greg, I'm fifteen; you can't make me feel better by giving me 'treats'," she told him walking out of the room.

            Catherine looked at the lab tech.  "Greg, I'm sorry; it's just we have—"

            "I understand, Catherine; I've worked her long enough to know that evidence tells a story even though we might not like that story," he said following Faraday to the car.  He passed Grissom on the way.

            "Greg, we'll let you know what turns up," Grissom told him pledging to keep him informed.  He then turned and walked into the DNA lab.  "Olivia, I need this DNA compared with the DNA found from the blood on the wall in the Abraham kidnapping case."

            "Right, the case I'm taking over for Sanders," a young woman in dreadlocks with a bright patterned bandana tied into them adding a splash of color to her outfit which consisted of black slacks and maroon blouse acknowledged.

            Olivia Price was one of the lab rats for Days.  She was beautiful, to say the least, and had passed up a career in modeling in favor of attending Yale University for her B.S. in Chemistry.  Her parents had emigrated from Ethiopia and hadn't had the easiest life, so when Yale offered her scholarships to cover most of her school costs, she knew they'd much rather her go to school than take up modeling.

            "Yes, and if you could make it priority, I'd be very grateful."

            "Sure, Grissom," she said smiling at him.

            "I don't think so, Gil," a smarmy voice said from behind him.

            Grissom turned around.

            "Conrad," he said with no enthusiasm.

            "Olivia works for dayshift; she makes our cases a priority."

            Conrad Ecklie, the dayshift supervisor, loved making Grissom's life miserable.  Grissom was better at his job as supervisor, and Ecklie knew it.  He was jealous of Grissom.  He'd screwed Grissom and his team over on numerous occasions, ordering evidence to be destroyed or even keeping evidence from them.

            "Ecklie, it's no problem, really; processing your stuff is taking a while.  I can fit Grissom's in while I'm waiting for the results," Olivia spoke up.

            "Jesus, Gil, what is with the people on your shift?  You've got a compulsive gambler, a guy who sleeps with hookers, and now your lab rat's relative is involved in a kidnapping.  Olivia, if you give priority to Gil's case, you're fired," he threatened.

            The woman's eyes and went wide, and she looked at Grissom apologetically, but Grissom wasn't going to let Ecklie threaten those under him.

            "If you fire her, Conrad, I'll just hire her for graveyard.  It'll give Greg someone to work with, and with the two of them working together, their workload will be a lot lighter.  You know, the hours may suck, but at least the people don't," Grissom ripped into him.  

He turned and headed for his office where he saw Catherine standing in the doorway, leaving Ecklie to stand in the hall enraged.  Olivia hid her grin by pretending to look at something interesting under one of the microscopes.  _I should totally quit and start working graveyard_, she thought.

            Once Grissom and Catherine were safely in his office out of earshot of everyone else, they began discussing Faraday's story.

            "She's lying," Catherine sighed.

            "I know, but, out of curiosity, what makes you say that?"

            "The whole story about the blood on the wall being from a skateboarding accident.  I mean, a kid's first instinct when they get a scrape is to put their hands on it; I tell Lindsey all of the time not to because it just spreads germs.  Why would Faraday wait until getting up in the tree house to do that?  If her story was true, we'd find traces of blood on the steps leading up into the tree house, and then the blood could've gotten on the wall after she'd touched it again, but Sara checked each one of those boards as she was climbing up that tree, and she didn't find any traces of blood."

            Grissom nodded slowly.  "I know."

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        

            Sara Sidle bent over the microscope and looked into the eyepiece; Nick stood beside her.  The specimen she was viewing was the blue pieces of fuzz she and Catherine had both found at the crime scene.

            "Fibers look coarse under the microscope.  They could be from a sweater, a blanket, socks…any number of things," she sighed.  But she remembered something that raised her hopes up a bit.  "However, when Catherine checked the house, she didn't find any article of clothing or blanket that matched the material."

            She moved aside to let Nick have a look, but he was interrupted by Warrick.

            "Catherine told me that Greg's sister's shoes match one of the prints I lifted from the kitchen."

            "Oh man," Nick said grimly, shaking his head.

            "She's the Abraham kid's best friend; she has a good reason for them being there.  _But_ the other footprint I lifted?  Size _fifteen Doc Martens."_

            "Wow, is that lucky or what?  How many people have feet that big?" Sara exclaimed.

            "Not Mr. Abraham, and definitely not Blair or Blake," Warrick said with a smirk.  "And the lock on the door wasn't forced open; we're looking for somebody they're close to."

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *  

            Grissom headed into the DNA lab having received a page from Olivia.

            "You have the results back?"

            "Yeah, and you're not gonna like 'em," Olivia told him apologetically.  She handed him the computer printout.

            "Blood's not Faraday's; she lied," he said to himself.  He sighed heavily; he did not like where this evidence led.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I know this chapter is longer than others, but oh well…and I also know there was a lot of dialogue…too much for my taste, but it was an interrogation part…I just don't like reading stories that suffer from talking head syndrome…anyways, this chapter was ready to post at 12:36 am 9/24, but my internet connection was down, grr…I called for assistance and I think I got this stoner who happened to be high as a kite at the time, so he was completely useless…also, I'm assuming Faraday's prints would be able to be recalled through AFIS because of that whole "keep kids safe" program Vegas has going on…I guess they'd print her before she enrolled in the high school, but I have no idea…for the sake of my story, let's pretend that's how it goes, lol…if you're from Nevada, I'd like to hear about how that whole thing works…also, I don't know if supervisors like Ecklie and Grissom have the power to fire and hire people at will, but I like when Grissom gets to get all badass on Ecklie, so I thought I'd give the two of them a scene, lol…     


	5. KAPITEL FÜNF

 SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1     Author's Notes: Argh...finally, I have Microsoft Word back on my computer...I'm sure you all are about as fed up with me not updating as I was with the stupid computer people...sorry this is so late in coming...I didn't have internet access, and I'm nursing a fractured floating rib (useless thing) from a misadventure in skateboarding back home in Jersey...Apparently, "Stoned Adrian" is really funny, so my friends say...something about thinking the tampon dispenser in the bathroom held Skittles...and my dad got mistaken for that guy who plays Ed on _Ed_...apparently this happens a lot; they look similar, but I don't think I'd confuse the two...by the way, _Ed _sometimes films in Westfield, NJ (my hometown) and it can get real annoying having to detour around things...anyways, I guess I'm through bitching...let's jive 

  KAPITEL FÜNF

            Grissom and Catherine stood aside while Captain Jim Brass knocked assertively

  on the navy blue front door of the Abraham residence.  The house was a dull white that

  had once been clean and vibrant; it didn't look ugly and rundown, but it could've used a

  coat or two of fresh paint.  The trim was navy blue to match the front door, two story; all

  in all, a good representation of middle class living in Las Vegas suburbia.  Brass was

  there to ask Mr. Abraham a few questions, and Grissom and Catherine wanted to check

  the luggage he'd taken to Chicago.  They didn't want to believe he had anything to do

  with this, but parents sometimes did play a part in the kidnapping of their own children. 

  Hell, parents sometimes even played a part in their own kid's murder.  Catherine had

  encountered it before; she'd tackled a case that involved a mother drowning her six-year-

  old daughter in the Tunnel of Love at a traveling carnival.  Grissom had gotten Brass

  involved because he wanted to approach this case as a possible homicide; the CSIs were

  preparing themselves for the discovery of a body.

            A man in his early forties answered the door.  His light brown hair was being

  invaded by gray; Grissom wondered how much of that gray could be attributed to the

  past few days.

            "Yes?" he asked.  He looked like he hadn't slept in a while; his face looked tired,

  dark circles hid beneath his eyes.

            "Mr. Abraham?" Brass asked.  

            "Yes."

            "I'm Detective Jim Brass; this is Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows from the

  crime lab.  We're working your daughter's case."

            "Oh, please come in; please tell me you have some good news," he said opening

  the door so they could enter.  He led them into the living room.  "Feel free to sit down."

            Brass took a seat on the couch; Mr. Abraham sat on the opposite side, leaving a

  cushion between them.  Grissom and Catherine stayed standing, their toolbox-looking

  forensics kits resting at their sides.

            "You're more than welcome to sit down too," he told them.       

            "Actually, we were wondering if we could take a look around while Detective

  Brass asked you a few questions," Grissom said.

            "Sure, just forgive me for the mess in the master bedroom; I've just gotten home

  and unpacking hasn't exactly been at the forefront of my mind."

            Grissom and Catherine made their way up the stairs and down the hall.  At the

  end of the hall was what Grissom assumed to be Blair's bedroom because she'd said

  she'd open her door to go to the bathroom the night she'd seen the intruder; on the right

  side was, first, a bathroom, and then the door leading to Blake's room.  To the left was,

  they discovered after Catherine took a peek inside the night of the crime, a closet where

  they kept towels, washcloths, soap, and other various toiletries; next to it was the door to

  Mr. Abraham's bedroom.  They stepped inside.

            Pictures were prominent throughout the room; either this man was big on

  preserving memories or his wife had been before she passed away.  Catherine walked

  around the room looking at them.  There were pictures of Christmases and birthdays

  when the girls were little and pictures of Mr. Abraham and his wife, who with her long,

  curly red hair and wide smile could've been a dead ringer for Debra Messing, albeit a

  little heavier, but pretty nonetheless.  A picture of the family at Lake Mead appeared to

  be one of the lasts ones taken when Mrs. Abraham was alive because the girls looked

  considerably older than the Christmas photos, and Grissom had mentioned she'd passed

  away when Blake was twelve and Blair was just nine.  They appeared to be the picture

  perfect family only, now, an integral part of that family, the mother, was gone.

            "What're you hoping to find in here?" Catherine asked.

            "I don't know; something to link him to the crime or something to clear him of

  it."

            They both noticed his luggage sitting on the floor; just one suitcase, which was

  opened, and a briefcase.

            "Must've been a short trip," Grissom observed.

            He took his gloved hands and began to rummage around in the suitcase.  He

  pulled out a royal blue sweater and slowly looked at Catherine.

            "Color look familiar?" he asked knowing full well it would.

            "Bright blue, just like those pieces of fuzz Sara and I found at the scene,"

  Catherine sighed.  However, upon further examination, she didn't think this material

  matched the material they'd collected before.  "But I'll take a sample just in case," she

  said tweezing a sample.

            Next stop was the bathroom; they wanted to get a sample of Blake's DNA for

  comparison on the blood.  The bathroom was shared between Blair and Blake, so they

  had no idea which items belonged to which girl.

            "Mr. Abraham, could you come up here please," Grissom called down the stairs.

            Soon Mr. Abraham, joined by Brass, was upstairs and in the bathroom with them.

            "Is there anything we can take that was Blake's back to the lab for analysis, like a

  hairbrush or a toothbrush, maybe?" Catherine asked.

            "Uh, this is her toothbrush," Mr. Abraham said reaching for a green toothbrush.

            "No " Catherine yelped abruptly.  "Let me get it; I've got gloves on.  We don't

  want to jeopardize any evidence that can possibly lead to the whereabouts of your

  daughter, sir."

            He nodded, and Brass led him back downstairs for more questioning.

            "Oh, I wanted to ask you, when do you plan on bringing Faraday back in for

  questioning?" Catherine asked Grissom once they were alone again.  

            "I got Nick and Sara there with her now."

  *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *   

            Faraday found herself, once again, in the same chair at the same table, only this

  time two different faces were staring back at her.  The hard look Sara was giving her was

  making her uneasy, but Nick seemed to have a more sympathetic air about him.  This

  time, Greg had personally pulled her out of school and driven her to the lab.  He'd

  chastised her for lying, saying they were his friends and the best investigators he's ever

  known and that she should trust them.  She'd yelled back that he wasn't the one

  considered a suspect and that she'd had no choice but to lie.  By this time Greg was

  shouting too, and he'd told her there was always another choice, a better choice, than to

  lie: to tell the truth.

            "Faraday, the blood on the wall's not yours…but you knew that.  Why did you lie

  to us; you knew we were going to find out," Sara started off.

            The teenager looked at the table; she was ashamed and didn't want to have to

  look at them in the face.  For the first time, Nick noticed just how much she looked like

  Greg.  Small freckles dotted her jaw-line and cheeks here and there; her eyes were doe-like

  just like Greg's only blue.  She had that wounded look that Greg sometimes got when

  someone put him down or one of the CSIs weren't happy with his work.  Her nose was

  smaller than his though, almost anime-like, and her lips were slightly fuller, but one

  could tell she and Greg definitely shared some DNA markers.  Against his better

  judgment, Nick spoke up.

            "Y'know, Faraday, I've been in your situation.  A few years ago, I lost a friend,

  and I was accused of her murder."      

            "Nick—" Sara started but was silenced when he held up a hand in her direction. 

  She was going to tell him he couldn't just air out his dirty laundry for this kid, but Nick

  had been in her situation and knew how scared it was being under the suspicion and

  scrutiny of investigators.  The girl looked up at him in disbelief.

            "Yeah, and despite the fact that I was innocent, it looked like all of this evidence

  was pointing at me.  And y'know who was heading up the investigation?  Ecklie "

            Faraday knew how much of a dick Ecklie was because Greg had had a few choice

  words to say about him whenever he was needed to work on one of his cases.  Ecklie

  often made him put in overtime to process his stuff; Greg didn't mind pulling overtime

  for Grissom and his team, but he wasn't even on dayshift which Ecklie supervised.

            "If it hadn't been for Catherine, I'd been charged with murder.  I'd lost my job. 

  What I'm saying is we're good at what we do.  You're innocent; you've got nothing to

  worry about by telling us the truth."

            Internally, Sara disagreed with Nick's assumption that the girl was innocent, but

  she didn't say anything because it would start an unneeded argument between the four of

  them, and Greg would probably never forgive her for thinking his little sister could be

  guilty of such a heinous act.

            "So, what really happened up in that tree house?" Nick asked.

            Faraday hesitated for a moment but told him.  "We got into an argument, and I

  pushed her.  Behind her was a hook where she hung her coat or her skateboard or

  whatever she had at the time.  She hit her head on it, and it started bleeding pretty bad.  Out of instinct, I put my hand on the back of her head, but she was pretty mad at me, so she pushed me back, and I tried to steady myself against the wall.  I didn't mean to push her that hard!"  Faraday's voice went up in pitch at the last sentence.  She was beginning to get upset.

            "Hey; it's ok.  What'd you guys argue about?" Nick asked gently. 

            "I can't say," she said shaking her head.

            "Yes, you can; it might help us find your friend," Sara said trying to persuade the

  girl to tell them. 

            "No; I promised her I wouldn't."

            "Faraday, tell them everything you can," Greg advised her from his seat next to

  her.

            "Anything you tell us is helpful," Nick pressed.

            With Greg, Sara, and Nick pressing her to talk, she finally snapped.  "She told me

  she was gay " she blurted out.

            "And that made you upset?" Nick asked.

            "No, I was ok with it; it's not a big deal.  But she…she went to…kiss me and I…I

  got nervous because she had the wrong idea, so…I pushed her away.  I didn't want her to

  think there was something like that between us, and then get her feelings hurt when she

  found out that we were just going to be friends."

            She started to cry.

            "What's the matter?" Greg asked hugging his sister.  "You didn't do anything

  wrong; you're not in trouble."

            "No, I'm just really worried about Blake.  What if you never find her, or what if

  you find and her, and she's—"

            She wasn't able to finish that thought.

            "Hey, it's going to be ok," Greg said holding her.  In the back of his mind he

  knew he couldn't really make that kind of assurance.

  *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *   

            As they were going down the walk, Brass pulled out his pocket notebook and

  filled Grissom and Catherine in on what he'd gotten out of Mr. Abraham.  

            "Alright, he said he was on a Continental Airlines flight 327 to Chicago two days

  before the kidnapping and stayed at the Hilton, room 223 and was scheduled to stay for

  two more days.  I'm going to check out his story.  Since Warrick found no signs of forced

  entry, I asked him if anybody besides him and the girls had keys to the house."  Brass

  looked at his notebook.  "Brad Peterson, fourteen years old; he's the younger one's

  boyfriend.  Mr. Abraham says he has a key, so he can get in to water the plants when the

  three of them are out of town.  I don't know why he doesn't just give the kid a key when

  they go out of town; instead he made a spare one for him to keep.  I tell ya, if Ellie were twelve,

  a) she wouldn't have a boyfriend to begin with; hell, if I had it my way, she wouldn't

  have one now, and b) I sure as hell wouldn't give him a key to the house.  However, he

  said he hasn't been around lately; seems he and Blair have been on the 'outs'," he

  explained rolling his eyes at the thought of preteen "love."

            "Did Mr. Abraham give us an address for this Brad Peterson?" Grissom asked.

            "4516 Whistling Court."

            "I think we have a date with Brad Peterson," Catherine said.

            Within ten minutes, Brass, Grissom, and Catherine found themselves standing on

  the doorstep of the Peterson residence. 

            "We're just about to sit down to dinner," Mrs. Peterson explained slightly

  exasperated.

            "I'm sorry, but this can't wait.  We're here to speak with your son Brad about the

  kidnapping of Blair's sister." 

            Mrs. Peterson's eyes narrowed.  "You think my son had something to do with

  that?" she asked anger rising in her features.

            "We don't think anything…yet," Grissom told her.

            Her husband joined her in the doorway.

            "What's going on?" he inquired.

            "These-these people think our son had something to with Blake's kidnapping,

  Chris," she explained to her husband as she glared at the trio.

            "What?" he asked in disbelief.

            "No, we don't think anything yet," Grissom reiterated.  "We just need to talk with

  him.  We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

            The couple looked at each other but let Brass, Grissom, and Catherine in.

            "Brad, can you come in here please," Mrs. Peterson called.

            A blond-haired, green-eyed boy who was freakishly tall for his fourteen years of

  age entered the living room.  He wasn't big, but he wasn't beanpole thin either; he looked

  like a basketball player in the making.  He wore jeans and a gray Ohio State sweatshirt.

            "What's up, Mom?" he asked giving the new people confused looks.

            "These people want to speak with you about your relationship with the Abrahams,

  sweetie," his mother told him.

            "Are you originally from Ohio?" Catherine asked him gesturing to his sweatshirt.

            "Huh?  Oh, no, I'm just a fan of their killer football team," he said looking down

  at his sweatshirt.

            "Nice shoes," Brass said noticing his black boots.

            "Thanks," Brad answered not really knowing where Brass was going with this.

            "My daughter's a fan of 'em; Doc Martens, right?"

            "Yeah."

            "What size are those?" Brass asked, Grissom and Catherine now aware of what he

  was getting at.

            "Fifteen."

            "Fifteen?  Wow, those are big.  You're going to be another Shaq," Catherine told

  him trying to lighten up the situation.  "May I see your left shoe?"

            Brad began undoing the laces, but his mother stopped him.  

            "No, Brad."  She turned to the detective and the two criminalists.  "I see what

  you're trying to do; you're trying to implicate him in this terrible ordeal.  I know enough

  about the law to know you require a warrant."

            "You don't know as much about the law as I do.  He's wearing evidence in plain

  sight, ma'am; we can ask to look at it," Brass answered.

            Mrs. Peterson shot him an angry look but nodded for her son to continue.  Brad

  gave his mom a worried look but finished undoing the laces and slid the boot off of his

  foot.  He handed it to Catherine, who took out the print Warrick had lifted the night of the

  crime and compared them.

            "We got a match," she said looking up at Grissom and Brass.

            "Excuse me?" the boy's mother hissed angrily.

            "Your son's shoe matches a print we lifted from the kitchen."

            "So what?" Mr. Peterson snarled.  "He's dating Blair; he goes over to her house."

            "Mr. Abraham told us Brad and Blair have been having some problems, so he

  hasn't been around lately.  Any prints he would've left before would've been smudged or

  erased by now.  When was the last time you were over there?  Thursday?" Brass asked

  casually, but Grissom and Catherine knew what he was hinting at.

            "My son wasn't there when that child was kidnapped!" Mrs. Peterson shrieked.

            Ignoring his mother's outburst, the boy looked Brass in the eye.  "The last time I

  was there was two weeks ago."

            "Your shoes say differently," Brass deadpanned.

            "May I see your key to the Abraham's house?" Grissom asked Brad. 

            "Sure," he shrugged getting up to retrieve his keys.  He came back into the room. 

  "It's not here; last time I checked, it was here.  I don't know where it could be; I guess

  anywhere since it must've fell off."

            "So the key just up and walked away?" Brass asked sarcastically. 

            "That's it, my family doesn't need to be treated like this.  You want anything else,

  you're going to need a warrant.  Please get out of my house," Mr. Peterson ordered.

            Grissom gave a curt nod and rose to leave.  As they made their way back to the

  Tahoe and Brass' Taurus, Catherine turned to Brass.  "Can we get a warrant to search the 

  house or the kid's room, at least?"

            "He's got a key to the house and Brown lifted a fresh shoeprint of his despite his

  claim of not being there in two weeks; the warrant's in the bag."

  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  Wow, it feels good to be back.  I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter.  Thank you to

  those who reviewed during my absence; sorry I didn't personally thank you up in the

  author's notes, but I wanted to get this chapter out ASAP.  Also, hope you didn't think

  that little scene in the interrogation room with Greg and Faraday was too fluffy; I thought 

  it would be sweet and big-brotherly of him to hug her when she got upset :); 

  I'd like to think Greg can be a softy in a manly kinda way, lol.


	6. Kapitel Sechs

Author's Chapterly Rant: Well, I hope I'm keeping you folks on your toes as to who is behind the kidnapping…think you know who it is?  Think again!  lmao…:) 

hooh: Glad you like my story; I'll keep churning those chapters out as fast as I can without getting sloppy :)

dakFinv: One of my faithful readers and fellow NYUer :), thanks for sticking around.  By the way, how was your Halloween?  I went and partied with some frat daddies at a costume party where I went as Cyndi Lauper (circa 1980s…think "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" video, lol), then we hit some haunted houses, and then watched the Halloween movie (the first one; not the crappy other ones)

szhismine: yeah, I think Greg would make a great big brother…somebody who would goof around with you and cheer you up when you needed it…maybe this season the powers that be will shed some light on the characters family backgrounds (without getting too personal)…it seems they've only really touched on Catherine's…

person that does not have a fanfiction account: glad you like the story, and you should get an account :) 

~*Charlie*~: Glad you like the latest chapter!  Yeah, I bought the CSI game when it first came out…the cases were a little too easy for me, but it was still fun…I'm looking forward to the second one that they've got in the works…Well, I guess we're in the same boat as far as pain.  What'd you do to break yours?  I was trying to do a 900 at a skatepark…yeah, I'm a jackass…

KAPITEL SECHS

            Nick Stokes stood at a counter in Trace and looked at the blue fibers under one of the microscopes.  He then switched and looked under another one.

            "Doesn't match the fibers Catherine and Grissom took from the father's sweater."

            "I know," Sara grunted.

            "What's with you?" Nick asked his brow furrowing in concern.

            "It's just we've been on this case for three days now; haven't you ever heard of Doc Robbins' 'Rule of Three'?  Three weeks without food, three minutes without oxygen—"

            "Three days without water," Nick finished grimly now seeing what had Sara angry.

            "Unless Blake is being kept alive by her abductor, then there's really no hope.  And, according to Grissom, the father hasn't received any phone call or letter asking for a ransom, so there's no obvious reason to keep her alive."

            Nick knew how some cases could get to Sara, especially cases where women or children were concerned.  Cases where children were concerned got to them all, even Grissom.

            "There's always hope, Sara; some kids are found and returned."

            "Yeah, but you and I both know that's rare."

            "Anyway, those fibers remind me of the stuff the letter on my varsity letter jacket was made out of.  I remember, after I had worn it a lot, little fuzzballs would start forming on the letter and they'd fall off everywhere," he explained trying to take Sara's mind off of the worst.

            "Varsity, huh?  Football?"

            "Baseball."

            "Y'know, Warrick passed up an opportunity to play semi-pro ball to go to college.  Wonder who's the better player," Sara said flashing a gap-toothed grin.

            Nick snorted.  "Do you have to ask?"

            "So you think Warrick too?"

            Nick gave her a pained look, but his partner's grin made his face soften into a smile.  He knew she was just joking; digging at each other and making each other the butt of a lot of their jokes was a part of their relationship.

            "So," Sara said getting serious again.  "We should add letter jackets to our list of things matching this blue material."

            "Y'know, I—" he started.  "Well, I don't know if I should say anything."

            "No, you already started to tell, so spill," Sara ordered.

            "I don't know; I think Grissom is goin' about this all wrong," the Texan drawled.  "None of the people on our suspects list fit the description the young girl gave us.  I just think we're chasin' a couple of dead ends."

            "That's what you were afraid to tell me?  That you think Grissom is wrong?" Sara asked with a smile.  "Nick, we all, at one point or another, think Grissom is wrong."

            "Really?"

            "Yeah…we just don't tell Grissom."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Greg Sanders stalked down the aquamarine-tinged corridors of the Las Vegas Crime Lab.  _Who did that man think he was?_, the voice in his head raged.  He didn't bother knocking on the office door; he just barged right in.  The object of his search wasn't there to be found, but the battery-operated fish on the wall was there to greet him.

            "'Don't worry…be happy…'," Billy jived to the reggae beat.

            Greg looked up at it with a glare and fought off the urge to knock it off the wall.  The young lab tech made his way down to Ballistics.  Grissom wouldn't really have a reason to be down there; he was working strictly on the Abraham case, and, as far as Greg knew, bullets weren't found at the crime scene, but he figured it couldn't hurt to check.

            "Well, hey, Greg," Bobby greeted in his southern twang.

            "Hey, Bobby; have you seen Gris around?"

            "No, he hasn't been down here, but if he moseys on into my territory, I let him know you're lookin' for him," Bobby told him.

            "Thanks," Greg said leaving.

            His next stop was Audio/Visual where his buddy and fellow goofball, Archie, did most of his work.  Archie's back was to him as he walked him, his head bobbing up and down.  Something told Greg he wasn't listening to, say, a suicide note or a ransom phone call.  Greg laid a hand on Archie's shoulder.  Archie gasped and spun around.

            "Oh, Greg, man, don't do that to me," Archie said as he shoved the headphones off his head and around his neck.  He tried to catch his breath.

            "So, what were you working on?" Greg asked.

            "Uh, creepy phone call from a casino."

            "Hm, creepy phone call from a casino set to the beats of 50 Cent; that's a new one, Arch," Greg deadpanned sarcastically.

            Archie smirked, but then his face became serious.  "Dude, I heard what's been going down, and I'm sorry.  Is there anything you want me to do?"

            "Hey, don't worry about it.  I was just wondering if you've seen Grissom around."

            "Nope, hasn't been in my neck of the woods today, but if he does, I'll let him know you want to talk to him."

            "Alright, thanks, man; get back to 'work'," Greg said with a grin as he left.

            Archie smiled sheepishly and put the headphones back on his head.

            Greg sighed and began to head back to the DNA lab; he had swabs to process for a criminalist on Days.  As he was about to enter the lab, a figure rummaging around in the break room refrigerator caught his eye; it was Grissom.  The break room would've been the last place Greg would've checked for Grissom seeing as Grissom took breaks once in a blue moon.  He stood in the doorway waiting for Grissom to turn around.  Grissom turned around and took a seat at the table, totally oblivious to Greg's presence.

            "Oh, hello, professor," Greg stated sarcastically.

            Grissom looked up.  If he detected Greg's demeanor, he didn't let on.  "Hello, Greg."

            Greg plopped down in a chair across the table from Grissom.

            "A warrant to search _my _apartment; Grissom, are you crazy?" Greg asked in a heated whisper.

            "Greg, I'm trying to _eliminate_ your sister as a suspect completely," he said as a crossword puzzle caught his eye.  He picked up a pencil and began to fill in a few answers.  "I already bent some of the rules by allowing Brass to tell you we got a warrant, so you could be home when we searched your apartment."

            "Gee, thanks," Greg mumbled.  "Y'know, Nick and I both think you're going about this all wrong."

            "Is that so," Grissom murmured not really asking it as a question.  He continued to read crossword clues.  Grissom knew Greg was overstepping a few boundaries, but he figured he'd let the young man get whatever it was he wanted to say out in the open.

            "Yeah, I mean, you're supposed to be looking for a six foot, three hundred fifty pound _guy_, and you're hung up on my sister.  Last time I checked…is this like an OCD thing for you?" Greg blurted out exasperatedly.  During his spiel, Grissom had kept on filling in crossword clues.

            "No, it's a hobby," Grissom answered simply.  He put the pencil down and looked at Greg over his glasses.  "Greg, it was in the middle of the night; who's to say that the girl could actually see clearly?  That's why we don't rely heavily on witnesses."  Grissom, once again, turned back to his crossword puzzle.  Greg opened his mouth to argue some more but just closed it and went into the DNA lab.  Grissom looked up, brow furrowed.

            "Wait, Nick thinks I'm wrong?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Greg was ready for the knock at the door that came that evening.  He opened his apartment door to reveal a very apologetic-looking Warrick.

            "Greg, man, I'm sorry I gotta do this."

            "Hey, no hard feelings, man," Greg said letting the tall African American in.

            "Hey, Faraday," Warrick called.

            The teenager was lying on the couch facing away from the door reading a book; she grunted in reply.  Warrick took it to be a greeting and not something obscene and headed down the hall in the direction Greg had pointed him in.  Upon entering Faraday's room, he saw posters of music groups such as The Beatles, The Ramones, The Who, and various punk rock bands.  Warrick was more of a rap and blues kind of guy, but he dabbled in punk every now and then.

            "Kid's musical tastes are in the right place," he murmured to himself.  He went to her closet and opened it up.  Old soccer jerseys hung next to cheap-looking shirts that came from odd places such as feed stores.  Warrick guessed she liked to frequent thrift stores.  He shrugged; one could find some pretty nifty things at thrift stores.  He looked to the floor of the closet where her shoes lay.  She had a few pairs of cheap flip flops from Old Navy and a bunch of pairs of Cons.  Warrick smiled as he remembered when he was a kid how he _begged and __pleaded with his mother for a pair, and when she'd finally given in, he'd chosen a pair of _canary yellow_ hi-tops.  He wore them with blue parachute pants._

            _God, I was such a geek, Warrick thought to himself.  The criminalist decided to move on to her dresser.  He pulled a drawer open only to reveal bras and underwear.  Warrick flinched, and, after a quick cursory glance, shut it.  He wished Grissom had sent Sara or Catherine; this made him feel like a perv.  He quickly checked the other drawers, and then pulled out his cell phone._

            "Grissom, I didn't find anything matching those blue fibers," he answered once his supervisor had picked up.

            "Alright; I got Brass here with me and, I'm about to check Brad Peterson's room."

            "Alright, good luck; I'm out," Warrick said hanging up.  He headed into the living room.

            "All clear; I'm done here.  I'll see you on shift tonight, Greg.  Later, Faraday."

            Another grunt.

            "Let me ask you somethin', man," Warrick said putting a hand on Greg's shoulder.  "Where in the hell did your parents come up with a name like Faraday?"

            "Actually, I named her…it's a chemistry thing."  

            "I can't believe you named her after some science geeks; you do know that what you did is really cruel."

            "Hey, I could've named her Avogadro Beer, or Planck von Pettenkofer, or, my personal favorite, Ruska Gay-Lussac."

            Warrick snorted and began to laugh.  "Alright, alright, you gave her the best name you could considering what you had to work with."

            After Warrick had gone, Greg returned to the living room.

            "Are you up for some Chinese food?"

            "From that place around the corner?" Faraday asked looking up from her book.

            "Are you kidding me?  No, that place is merely _adequate_.  I know this place that will make your knees buckle, it's so good.  I thought we'd pick something up, bring it back, watch a DVD, y'know, just hang out.  That is, if you're up for a forty minute drive."

            "Forty minutes, round trip, for Chinese food?"  She shrugged.  "Sure, why not."

            They grabbed their coats and headed for Greg's Jeep.  After chatting about sports and school and life in California, they fell silent as the car sped down the highway.

            "Who's Jeffrey Dahmer?" Faraday asked after a while.

            "Where the hell did _that_ come from?"

            "I was reading a book, and it mentioned him."

            "Oh, well, uh, he was a serial killer," Greg said looking for an easy way out of the conversation.

            "I knew that much about him; what made him so bad?  Besides the fact that he killed people."

            "Y'know, Jeffrey Dahmer isn't something we should really be talking about.  You don't need to know about stuff like that."

            "That's fine…I'll just look it up on the internet," she said shrugging.

            "You could, but it's really not something you should look into.  Let's talk about something else.  Are you thinking about trying out for the school soccer team or maybe the basketball team?"

            "Tell me about some of the cases you and the others have worked on."

            Greg sighed.  "Again, those are things you don't need to know about.  You're my little sister; I need to preserve what little innocence you have left," he said grinning and turning on the radio.

            "Oh, I love this song!  'And we danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced!'"

            "'We were liars in love and we danced!'," Greg joined in silently thanking God for the fact that his sister's brain could switch tracks on a whim.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Brass rang the doorbell once…twice…and one more time…just for good measure.  The couple had pissed him off hours before, so he decided he'd annoy them by ringing the bell more times than was needed.  This time he was only joined by Grissom; Catherine had taken a break from overtime and picked up Lindsey from her sister's place, so the two could have dinner and spend some time together before Catherine had to come in at eleven for her shift.  This time Mr. Peterson opened the door; when he saw who was waiting on the other side, a stony look crossed his face.

            "Open sesame," Brass deadpanned holding up a warrant.

            Mr. Peterson's jaw worked for a moment before he opened the door to let them in.  

            "If you'll kindly point us in the direction of your son's room, I'll get to work and hopefully be out of your hair soon," Gil told the man.

            "Down the hall to the right," he grumbled.

            "Thank you," Grissom answered heading towards Brad's room.

            The criminalist shut the door so he could get started in peace and quiet.  He stood near the door and surveyed the room, trying to gauge the type of person Brad seemed to be.  Against the wall to his right was a bed, across from it a closet.  Next to the closet was a small desk, and above the desk, on the wall, was an Ohio State pennant.  Like most boys, he had a gaming system and a shelf full of video games.  Grissom wasn't getting an evil vibe from this room, and he didn't get one earlier when he and Catherine had first questioned the teen, but he wasn't one to follow vibes or hunches.

            Grissom opened up the closet and began to poke around.  Brad appeared to be a fan of Abercrombie and Fitch shirts and sweaters and cargo pants.  As he was nearing the end of the line of clothes with no luck, his cell phone rang.

            "Grissom."

            "Yeah, Grissom, this is Nick; check the boy's room for a letter jacket."

            "A letter jacket?"

            "Yeah, y'know, like the ones you get for being in varsity sports."

            "I know what they are; why do you want me to look for one?"

            "I think if you find one with a blue letter on it, then you've found the source of our mysterious blue fibers."

            "Right, ok, Nick."

            "Adios, Boss."    

             Grissom hadn't seen a letter jacket hanging up in the closet, so he checked the boy's dresser.  A letter jacket wasn't in there either.  There wasn't one draped over a chair, or lying on the bed; there wasn't one in the room.  He came out into the hall and into the living room where Brad and his father were sitting on the couch.

            "Are you through invading my family's privacy?" Mr. Peterson asked haughtily.

            "No," Grissom answered ignoring the man's tone.  "Brad, do you own a letter jacket?"

            "No, I'm—"

            The boy was cut off by the opening and slamming of the front door.  Grissom turned around to see a hulking mass of a boy enter the living room…wearing a letter jacket with a blue 'M' on the left chest.

            "Sir, I need your son's letter jacket."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Faraday sat on the couch leaning against something with her eyes half open trying to stay awake through the movie _Dogma_.  After they'd made it home with the food, Greg had run out to the video store and rented it.  She wouldn't have been able to watch this if her parents had been here; they wouldn't let her watch R-rated movies.  It was only when Greg went to move that she realized that she was leaning against him.

            "Where're you going?"

            "Oh, hey, I thought you'd fallen asleep," he said turning around.

            "Nope, almost though."

            "I have to get ready for work."

            Faraday's eyes were suddenly more alert and she sat up on the couch.

            "Let me go with you."

            "What?  No.  Why?" Greg asked a confused look playing across his face.

            "Just because.  I don't get to hang out with you that much."

            "We just had dinner and watched a movie together."

            "Yeah, but that doesn't really count.  It was dinner, and I was half-asleep," she argued.

            "It's not like we'll be doing much together at the lab."

            "Yeah, but when you come into the break room we can hang out.  Catherine _always_ brings Lindsey, and I _promise_ I won't touch any of Grissom's freaky experiments in the fridge."

            "Do you pester Mom and Dad this much?"

            "No; I'd never ask to go to work with them."

            "Fare, I dunno—" 

            "_Please.  I'll work on Chemistry while I'm there."_

            "Wait a minute," Greg broke in realization dawning on him.  "You'd do homework, on a _weekend, just to hang out with me?  I don't believe it."_

            "It's true," his sister maintained knowing Greg wasn't buying it.

            Greg narrowed his eyes at her searching for the truth.  "You looked up Jeffrey Dahmer on the internet, didn't you?"

            "Yeah," Faraday admitted weakly.  "And I really don't want to be left alone in the middle of the night."

            "Come on," Greg said rolling his eyes. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ahhh, a more light-hearted chapter…the whole Jeffrey Dahmer thing came about when my roommate watched a Criminal Justice Documentary thing on TV about him, and, later that night, made me go to sleep with the ropelights plugged in, lmao…see…this is where I get some of my ideas from…it's kinda sad, lol…oh, and the song Greg and Faraday sing in the car is "And We Danced" by The Hooters; if you have software that promotes piracy (i.e. Kazaa), I highly recommend you download it…I downloaded "Hakuna Matata" in German, lmao…so my roomie and I are busy learning that, lol…also, I don't remember any episode that ever mentioned Greg's car, so I apologize if it's wrong…I've always thought of him as a terrain vehicle type of guy :)…


	7. Kapitel Sieben

Author's Chapterly Outburst: Wow, I know Robert David Hall is an amazing actor but never knew all that he'd been through.  This guy is a real trooper and awesome to boot.  I tried including the link, but it didn't work so I guess just go to Yahoo and search their news articles for Robert David Hall…sorry…I tried

Also, in case you haven't noticed, this story does contain spoilers for various episodes…yeah…sorry…better late than never though…

It's also good to see some new names on the review board; thanks for reading, guys 

dakFinv: Rocky Horror…nice :)

Charlie: Yeah, I played the whole exchange between Archie and Greg in my head and it just seemed like it would fit the two of them :)

Jnp: I'm glad you like my original character…I was a little wary about taking on a fic that included one as a main part of the story because I know how some people can get upset about upsetting canon…I myself prefer stories that stick to canon…but, anyways, thanks for reading and reviewing :) 

Csifan1: Yeah, Greg does deserve to get out of the office…it would also be nice to see him shirtless on a surfboard, lol :)…very nice…and he did tell Nick that one time that he "rips"...but I think that just having them jet off to Cali would kind of upset the flow of the story, y'know…besides, I don't want to take your ideas; you write a story about Greg living it up on the west coast :).  I'm sure you'd do well; thanks for reading by the way

Jess: Good to have you on board, and "le sigh"…that was cute, lol…reminded me of Pepe Le Pew…I loved those cartoons…

Jon D: Ich bin ein Viertel Deutsch und ich liebe die Sprache. :) Aber spreche ich nur ein bißchen.  Sprechen Sie Deutsch?  Und ich danke dich für lesen. :)

BrokeDownRageMachine: Welcome to the story; I'm glad you're liking it :).  I hope it continues to live up to everybody's expectations.

Szhismine: Yeah, I was all ready for Eric to be getting more screen time too seeing as his character is supposed to be training to be a CSI; and after seeing the previews for next weeks episode, it looks like they're going to have another episode focusing on Catherine…don't get me wrong, I like her; the show wouldn't be the same without her…but the other characters have lives and backgrounds as well, y'know...

KAPITEL SIEBEN

            Catherine Willows pulled on a pair of latex gloves with a snap and proceeded to smooth the size 3X letter jacket out onto the table.  She took out a strip of tape and pressed it to the blue 'M' which was embroidered with a small football.  She carefully folded over the other side of the tape, preserving the evidence she'd lifted.  She knew the 'M' on the jacket stood for McKinley as in McKinley High and President McKinley.  Yeah, he wasn't the most famous of presidents, but he was a president nonetheless which meant there'd undoubtedly be a school named after him somewhere down the line in U.S. history.  Faraday and Blake both went to McKinley, but, while Brad's brother was a senior, they were sophomores.

            She compared the two fiber samples.  "A match," she murmured to herself.  "Let's see if this jacket's going to do anymore talking."

            Catherine noted a small tear in the black pseudo-leather of the right sleeve.  Her gloved hands felt around in the left-hand pocket, but when they didn't find anything, they went to the right side pocket.

            "And we have a winner," she smirked as she held up a key and a pair of gloves.

            "Find something interesting?" 

            Catherine looked up to the doorway to see her supervisor standing in there.

            "Yeah, a key and some gloves," she told him pulling out fingerprint powder and a brush.  "_And we finally got a match on those blue fibers."_

            "So, either he borrowed his brother's jacket or—"

            "Or his brother was in that house," Catherine finished his thought as she finished printing the key.  "Got a beautiful print; we might be able to get a hit from AFIS." 

            "Alright, I'm going to tell Greg he's back on the case; you get to work on that key.  Also, swab the inside of those gloves for epithelials," Grissom said.

            "Faraday's off the hook?" Catherine asked already knowing the answer.  She just wanted to hear it from Grissom to "make it official."

            "She's off the hook; however, Brad and his brother are not."

            Grissom turned and left to track down Greg in the DNA lab while Catherine set to work preparing the print to run through AFIS.  Grissom passed Nick in the hallway.

            "Oh, hey, Nick?" Grissom called turning around.

            "Yeah, Boss?" Nick asked spinning around.

            "Good pick up about the letter jacket; we got a match."

            "Alright," Nick said with a smile before continuing on his way.  He always liked it when Grissom took the time to give him credit and praise for a job well done.  He sometimes felt inadequate in his line of work, and recognition from his supervisor and peers reassured him that he was, indeed, a good CSI.

            Grissom continued on his way to the lab.  He saw Greg carefully measuring out chemicals and putting them into different test tubes.  He knocked on the doorframe, something he'd never done in the entire time he and Greg had worked together.  Grissom was used to barging in, but, this time, he was here on a personal matter of Greg's, not evidence, so he figured he could be polite.

            Greg looked up from the test tubes.  "Oh, hey, Grissom."

            "You're back on the case, Greg."

            "Really?  My sister's not a part of your investigation anymore?" he asked breaking out into a grin.

            "No," the older man answered with a slight smile.

            "Alright!" Greg celebrated.  "No more being run ragged by Ecklie.  It's all Olivia's now.  What d'you got for me?"

            "Nothing…so why don't you finish what you started for Days."

            Greg's face fell.  "Ok," he grumbled.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Grissom and Sara sat across the table in the first of several interrogation rooms along the corridor; across from them Brad Peterson sat fidgeting.  Next to him, his father sat with a hand on his son's shoulder, trying to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about.  In the next room over, his older brother was in a similar setting, sitting across from Nick and Warrick, only he was by himself because he was eighteen and wasn't required to have a guardian present.  Mrs. Peterson had stayed home because she wanted no part of this "gross display of injustice."

"Brad, do you ever borrow your brother's jacket?" Grissom asked.

            "No, he won't let me."

            "Have you ever borrowed it without asking?  Like, when he wasn't around?" Sara inquired.

            Brad hesitated.  "Yeah, a couple times.  Whenever he wasn't at the house, and I was going out with friends, I'd wear it."

            "Did you wear it to the Abraham's that night?" Brass asked staring the kid down.

            "My son told you he has been there in weeks!"

            "Mr. Peterson, you're going to have to control yourself," Grissom warned.  His attention was drawn away towards the window behind Brad and his father.  Catherine was motioning for him to come outside through the blinds.  "Excuse me," he said getting up.

            "Only fingerprints on the key were from our boy, Brad, in there," Catherine explained.

            Grissom nodded and went back into the interrogation room.      

            "Brad, your fingerprints were found on your key to the Abraham's house, which can be expected considering it _is_ your key, but what was is doing in your brother's jacket?" 

            "I-I don't know," the boy gestured searching for words.  "The last I remember, it was on my keychain, where I always keep it."

            Grissom narrowed his eyes and studied Brad for a moment; the boy did seem sincerely befuddled.  Of course, he could just be an excellent actor.  He wondered how far Nick and Warrick were getting in the next room.  He looked up to once again see Catherine gesturing outside of the blinds, but this time she was pointing at Sara.  Sara excused herself and met Catherine outside the interrogation room.

            "What?" Sara asked.

            "I was just thinking, given the witness' account of what the intruder looked like, the evidence you found in the tree house, let's just, for now, assume that Brad's brother is guilty.  Did you or Nick ever ask yourselves how the hell he got to Blake up in that tree without being able to _fit_ through opening?  And how he got _out of it with her?"_

            Sara's face clouded over with disbelief.  "Oh my God, we missed it.  We screwed up; we didn't fully check the crime scene."

            Catherine felt anger within her.  "Sara, you're _smarter than this; you can't afford to make mistakes like this!" she hissed not wanting to draw attention to the pair._

            "You don't think I feel bad about this?" Sara asked angrily.  "And I'm not alone in this; Nick was there too."

            "All I have to say is you better get over to the Abraham residence and hope that nothing has gotten to any evidence you missed," Catherine ordered with a tinge of disgust.

            Sara stared after her with an open mouth for a moment.  Sometimes Catherine grated her nerves like one wouldn't believe; to Sara, Catherine sometimes forgot that she was a peer, and saw herself as above them.  Sara almost pointed out that Catherine had blown up the lab and almost killed Greg, but that would have been beyond inappropriate.  After getting over the initial shock of Catherine's tirade, Sara turned and left to go to the Abraham's.

"So, David, any idea how your brother's key was in your jacket?" Warrick asked.

            "I don't know; he could've borrowed my jacket.  I never let him, but, who knows, he probably wears it when I'm not around."

            Warrick looked at the stocky senior in front of him.  He wasn't particularly attractive with a shaved head, big nose, and a face that seemed to sag.  He looked like a teenage Detective Brass, but Warrick would never say that out loud.

            "Do you know Blair or Blake Abraham?" Nick inquired.

            "I know 'em, yeah.  My brother was going out with Blair; I told him he should take advantage of the fact their dad was out of town.  Use it "get a little closer to her", if you know what I mean," he explained crudely with a smile.

            Nick and Warrick exchanged glances.  Both were thinking the same thing; David knew that Mr. Abraham wasn't at home that night Blake was abducted.

            "Are you friends with them?  Do you hang out with them?"

            David snorted.  "No.  They're twelve and fifteen years old; I don't play that game."

            "Right, the game you play is football.  Varsity football.  Let me ask you something; how did fibers from your jacket get inside that house?  I mean, you just told me you don't hang out with them; what's the deal?" Nick questioned.

            "I told you my brother borrows it," David maintained gritting his teeth.  

            "What about the gloves?  Yeah, it's October, but it's not really cold enough out for gloves."

            "I don't know; they could've been left there from another time.  My brother could've used them; who the hell knows."

            Nick looked up to see Catherine outside the window.  She was beginning to get tired of going back and forth between Trace and DNA and the interrogation room; she felt like a gofer.

            "What d'you got?" Nick drawled.

            "Greg needs samples to compare with the DNA he lifted from the epithelial cells in the gloves."

            Nick nodded and went back into the room.  Catherine then went and told Grissom the same thing.  While Brad voluntarily let her swab his mouth, David was making them get a warrant.  "That's fine," Brass told him.  "Won't take but fifteen minutes."  Soon Greg had samples from both the boys and was working on the comparison.  

            "You gotta admit David you're not lookin' too good," Nick stated.  "Witness account describes someone matching you're build.  What happened?  Did you forget there was another person in the house, and you couldn't handle both of them?"

            "I want a lawyer," David said crossing his arms over his chest and sitting back in his chair.  He looked at them defiantly.  Warrick and Nick knew they couldn't question him anymore; he'd requested counsel.  

            They both looked past the boy to see Catherine gesturing enthusiastically at them.  This time Warrick went.

            "DNA matches our football player," Catherine said with a grin.

            "Alright!  Warrant to search his room coming right up," Warrick answered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Nick found himself in what he thought was something out of the movie _American History X.  In fact, David Peterson's room resembled the teen's from the film in that swastika adorned flags hung on the walls, and a couple of iron crosses hung from nails.  Nick felt his eyes widen in shock; how could anyone decorate their room like this?_

            A computer sat in one corner; Nick would confiscate that at the end of his search and see what he could find.  Maybe one or both boys conversed with an accomplice via instant message or e-mail.  Nick didn't know exactly what he was looking for, so he decided to start with the boy's desk.  All he found were a few homework papers, some pens and pencils, a comic book or two; things that didn't help their case.  He moved over to the bookcase and began looking at the titles on the spines.

            "Mein Kampf," Nick muttered.  "Unbelievable."

            Didn't David's parents ever step foot in his room; didn't they monitor what he was reading and putting into his brain?  Nick knew what Nazis and Neo-Nazis alike believed; his teachers and professors would go in depth about it when they got to the chapter on World War II in his high school and college history classes.  He knew about the anti-Semitism, the hate of people who basically weren't Caucasian, and then he couldn't help but think of one of his best friends, Warrick, and how he was one of the greatest men of character he'd ever had the pleasure to know.  _How could anyone hate another person just because their skin has a little more pigmentation?, he thought._

            He pulled his gaze away from the bookshelf and to the wastebasket.  Kids never seemed to be as careful in concealing their crimes as adults were; the CSIs had busted many a teenage criminal from evidence found in the trash.  They even had one case where a teenage boy had slaughtered his girlfriend's parents and two brothers and then hidden the clothes, which were _drenched_ in blood, in the garbage in his garage.

            Nick stooped down and overturned the small wastebasket.  He sifted through more homework papers and a few artwork pieces before finding something that could break the case open a whole lot more than it already was.

            "Interesting," he whispered with a smile.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hmm, curiouser and curiouser…what'd Nick find? :)  You'll find out soon enough…also, sorry their wasn't much Greg in this chapter; it's just he's in the lab and such…my next fic will have to deal with his CSI field training, I suppose…I thought he was supposed to be doing that this season; I was all happy because that meant Eric would get more screen time which he totally deserves, but they still have him cooped up in the lab…grr…ok, enjoy enjoy; I'm going to go eat some Key Lime Pie yogurt and work on my dramatic monologue for class…yeah, wish me luck with that…


	8. Kapitel Acht

While watching past episodes of CSI on DVD and looking around at the CSI page at the CBS site, I've run across a conundrum.  In one episode, Nick runs into an old buddy and his buddy comments that Nick "never passed up a party at A&M", yet on the CBS website, it says Nick attended Rice University.  And in the episode "Caged", Greg tells Nick that he was a member of Phi Beta Kappa and that he earned a full ride to Stanford, yet on the CBS website, they maintain that Greg attended UC Berkeley.  So, did Nick attend Rice University or Texas A&M University, and did Greg attend Stanford or UC Berkeley?  I'm inclined to go along with what they reveal on TV and say Greg attended Stanford and Nick attended Texas A&M University.  Anybody care to comment? 

Szhismine: Sure, I'll sign a petition to get Eric more screen time…I always love stirring up mischief, lol.  "Damn the Man" :)

dakFinv: Thanx for wishing me luck; it went well, I think…still waiting for the grade.  By the way, is Biology really hard? Lol

~*Charlie*~: Was this chapter up soon enough for you? :)

Jess: But cliffhangers are what make it fuuuuuun, heh :).  And Grissom's not so bad…and can men really get yeast infections?...lol…maybe you can sign szhismine's petition to get Eric more screen time, lol…

BrokeDownRageMachine: Yeah, I'm not really good at organization and pacing, in stories or otherwise.  I get so many ideas and stuff that I just put 'em down and organize them as best as I can.  Hope you like this one though.

KAPITEL ACHT

            "'Blake, I'm sorry about last night.  It doesn't bother me at all that you like girls, but I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea about us.  You're still my best friend; I hope I'm still yours.  Since your dad still has a couple days left on his business trip, maybe I can talk Greg into letting me spend the night on a school night and we can have our own mini party (don't worry, I'll bring the food), or, if not, maybe he'll let you spend the night over at the apartment.  Anyways, good luck on the test (like you need it).  Drop me a line in my locker or meet me after school at the usual place.  Faraday'," Grissom read the note to himself out loud.

            "I've already stopped by the break room and asked Faraday about it; it's legit.  She wrote it," Nick informed him.

            "And you found this in David's bedroom?  Doesn't really mean much, Nick; haven't you ever picked something up by mistake and thrown it away when you got home? 

            Nick gave his supervisor with an incredulous look.  "Grissom, you can't say that doesn't mean anything.  It means that David knew the father was out of town, _and _he knew about Blake's…preferences."

            Grissom looked at Nick over his glasses.  "We don't know if that played any part in this; we don't even know that David _or Brad had anything to do with this.  Yes, it does make him seem more suspicious; I'm just saying that this won't hold up as well in court as other clues we've found.  Let's concentrate on finding more damning evidence, whether it leads to Brad and David or not."_

            Nick made a scoffing noise.  "Oh, come on, Grissom, you didn't see his room, and are you trying to tell me that, in spite of all this evidence, you don't at least think the older one's in on this?  We've already got enough evidence to get both of them for this."

            "I don't know who did this yet, and neither do you," Grissom told him walking away.  

            Nick shook his head.  He knew he'd broken open the case a whole lot wider, so why wouldn't Grissom admit that?  Ok, maybe he'd only _thought he'd broken the case open a lot wider; maybe he'd only cracked it a little.  He sighed and went to the break room to pour himself a cup of coffee, wake himself up a little, and then get back to the grind._

Grissom had his nose buried in the casefile when he nearly collided with Sara.  He looked up, blinking at her through his glasses.  They stared at each other for a moment as if to see who'd apologize first.  Neither one said anything.

            "Hey, do you know where Catherine is?" Sara finally spoke up.

            "Check A/V; I think she and Warrick are down there with Archie checking out the computer Nick brought back from the older Peterson boy's room."

            Sara nodded her thanks and left Grissom to continue on his way.

            Archie Johnson, lab tech and Audio/Visual extraordinaire, sat before the glowing screen of a desktop with Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown looking over, one on each shoulder.  "Ok, I've checked both of the guys' e-mails; there's nothing in them incriminating, not even in the trash.  However, I was able to pull up chat logs from the instant message folder.  Got two screen names in here, OhioStatePimp and McKinleyPlaya," Archie snorted.

            "Bet I know which is which," Catherine said.

            Archie clicked around some more and opened the chat logs.  "Ok, there's tons of stuff here, guys.  It's going to take me practically forever."

            "Start with ones about a week before the kidnapping and go from there.  It wouldn't make much sense to look at chat logs from months before," Warrick pointed out.

            Archie nodded in agreement and opened up one of the chat session logs.  While he was busy reading, Catherine and Warrick started hypothesizing on how the whole kidnapping could've gone down.

            "I think these guys are in on it together.  Brad had the key to house, right?  So, he let's his brother in and waits for his brother in the kitchen knowing that as big as his brother is, Blake wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight.  Then, somehow, Blake gets out of her room through the window and runs up into that tree house.  David chases her up there, somehow gets her out of her hiding spot that's fifteen feet up in a tree, and they take her somewhere, tie her up, I don't know."

            "Or dispose of her body," Catherine sighed grimly.  "But what if David or Brad acted alone?  I'll use David just because I think he did it."  Warrick cocked an eyebrow at her.  "Don't tell Grissom I'm 'making an _ass out of __u and _me_.'"  Warrick grinned and nodded that he wouldn't tell.  "Anyway, David takes his brother's key and, using the gloves, unlocks the door; that's why we only found Brad's fingerprints on the key, but we found David's DNA on the inside of the gloves.  So, he heads upstairs, Blake hears him or sees him, whichever came first, heads for the backyard tree house.  David tries to climb up after her, but one of the pieces of wood break.  Realizing he can't get up there that way, he finds…some other way," she said finishing lamely.  _

            Warrick thought for a moment.  "Y'know, Blake's bedroom was on the second floor of the house.  Did you see a ladder outside her window when you were checking the room?"

            "No.  I thought it was odd, but she could've just climbed out the window and jumped to the ground."

            Warrick gave her a look saying he thought that didn't sound plausible.

            "Hey, when somebody is after you, you'll do anything to get away.  Even jump out a second story window."

            "Suppose you're story is true.  How do you explain Brad's shoeprints I lifted from the kitchen floor?"

            Their musings were interrupted by Sara's arrival.

            "Oh, Catherine, good, you're down here," she greeted, all thoughts of their previous altercation seemed to have vanished…or at least been pushed to the back of her mind.  "I found a piece of that leather-like material that the sleeves of letter jackets are made out of snagged on a nail on the side of the tree house, _and," she stressed, "there was a ladder propped up against the side of the house right underneath Blake's bedroom window."_

            Catherine and Warrick exchanged glances.

            "We were just talking about—" Catherine started.

            "Wait," Sara interrupted holding up a hand.  "You haven't heard the best part; found a set of tire tracks straddling the yard and the driveway.  Looks like somebody was in a hurry and pulled up or backed in too far.  Treads don't match Mr. Abraham's car."

            "Well done, girl!" Warrick said giving her a knuckle tap.

            "Thought you only gave 'props' to Nick," Sara answered with a grin.

            "He'll understand," he said returning the smile.

            "I'm going to go run these treads through the database and see what comes up," Sara told them leaving Catherine and Warrick alone with Archie. 

"Guys, I've got something here," Archie spoke up urgently.  The two criminalists quickly moved to look over his shoulder. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Greg was coming out of the break room when he saw Sara headed for Trace.  Ever the curious one and always wanting to be able to play crime scene investigator, he trotted down the hall and followed her in.

            "Find something interesting?" he asked shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

            "Oh, hey, Greg; I thought you'd be in the break room with Faraday."

            "Eh, she's passed out on the table, practically drooling all over her Chem book.  Should've known she wouldn't really work on homework; I looked, and she only had three equilibrium problems done.  When she wakes up, she'll probably tell me she was pacing herself or something."

            Sara laughed and looked at him for a moment.  "How's she holding up with all this?"

            Greg shrugged.  "I guess she's doing alright; I don't know.  She doesn't talk about it or anything, but, lately, she's become kind of clingy, always wanting to hang around me.  It's not a bad thing; I mean, if you had me for a big brother, you'd worship me too," he said proudly with a grin.  His face quickly melted into seriousness again.  "No, but, I just don't know if that means anything, y'know?"

            "Well, you said Blake was the only friend she'd really made since she's moved to Vegas, right?"  Greg nodded.  "So, basically, she's only had you and Blake…maybe she's afraid she's going to lose you too."

            Greg chewed on his plastic spoon thinking for a moment.  "Maybe," he murmured.  

            Sara went back to watching the computer screen rapidly go through tire treads trying to find a match, and Greg leaned against one of the tables and studied her profile.  He had had quite a crush on her in earlier years, but now it had kind of ebbed.  Not because she'd became any less beautiful in his eyes; no, she still had the ability to make his heart thud wildly in his chest and his stomach to get kind of upset…the good kind of upset, like when you find out you've made the lead in the school play.  His desire for her had kind of ebbed because he'd resigned himself to the fact that she'd probably never go out with him.  _Maybe she'd go out with me, he thought.  __Yeah, when Grissom gets a wife and hell freezes over.  He cleared his throat._

            "So, you never told me what you found."

            She jerked her head from the monitor.  "Oh, tire marks.  Just by looking at them, I could tell they didn't match Mr. Abraham's Lexus, but they look like they could be from something like an SUV or a pick-up truck.  Hoping to match them to a vehicle the Petersons own."

            Greg nodded and looked at his watch.  "I'd better get back to the lab; my break's almost up."

            "See ya, Greg," she said flashing him a grin.

            He waved and gave a little nod of his head and was off.  Sara let the grin linger for a little bit on her face after he left.  _I'd be lying to myself if I said he wasn't cute, she thought._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

No, no, this isn't going to be a Greg/Sara; romance would make it too confusing.  It's confusing enough already, isn't it, with all the evidence…it is for me anyway…I'd better start wrapping it up, eh?  I just thought I'd touch a bit on his past crush for her and throw a little bone from her in his direction 'cause he deserves it :).  And anybody but me watch that two hour thing Sunday and think, after Greg got down and dirty in that storm drain, that he was still looking all kinds of hot :).  Lol, the man can pull off dirt and grime extremely well, can't he?


	9. Kapitel Neun

My Thoughts on Last Week's Episode: Even though it focused a lot on Catherine, I still found this episode enjoyable.  It's good to see she has confidence in Greg's competence as a future CSI; it was also good that he got more screen time than usual :).  Some people, though, *cough* Sara *cough*, could've used a good swat upside the head to set them straight.  Not just because of her snooty remarks about Greg's capability but also because her complaints about not being the forerunner in the case…at least Nick was willing to let it go.

To everybody, thank you for reviewing.  Your positive feedback really makes me want to write another fic for you guys :).

~*Charlie*~: I hope the ending lives up to your expectations :)

dakFinv: I have to get some science credit for my degree…don't know which to take yet.  I've never really been good at learning about cells and junk :); what are you planning on doing with your degree?  CSI, perhaps?...:)  Anyways, thank you for being a faithful reader

jnp: It's good to hear from you again!  Thank you for sticking it out with me :)

saz: I'm flattered that you think I'd be worthy of penning an episode of CSI though I don't think I'd be able to do the show nearly as much justice as the actual writers :).  I'm more of an in-front-of-the-camera type person, myself; maybe you'll see me in one of the episodes as opposed to writing one after I get my degree…man, I'd be happy just playing a corpse on this show…a two second shot of Doc Robbins cutting me open would be enough for me, lol :)

A Bloom: I don't think I write good romances; I can't seem to get lovey dovey enough, lol…I might do some writing exercises involving Greg/Sara and post some if I think they're good enough…I've been so busy writing this fic and doing schoolwork, I haven't had time to read fanfiction lately…I need to check out your stories :)

Szhismine: Thank you for your faithfulness in reading and reviewing; when are _you going to write a CSI fanfiction? :) _

KAPITEL NEUN

            Greg and Faraday trekked their way up the sixth and last flight of stairs they had to endure before coming to the apartment door.  As the two of them drove home and as they had climbed the stairs, Faraday had had to listen to Greg get onto her for not working on schoolwork.

            "It was 2:30 in the morning, Greg; I couldn't stay awake," she defended.

            Greg fumbled with his keys trying to find the one for the door. "So what were you doing before you started Chemistry?"

            He opened the door, and the two of them could hear the phone ringing from the kitchen.

            "Nothing; it took me two hours just to do those three problems.  Chemistry sucks a butt, Greg," his sister told him as she headed for the phone.  "Hello?" she asked picking it up.

            "Fare, it's Mom; how is everything there?"

            "Oh, hey, Mom."

            Hearing her mother's voice made Faraday long for California, though she did enjoy living with her brother because she hadn't seen him in all those years.  The two of them didn't do much together growing up; thirteen years was quite a gap when it came to the people one hung out with…and being siblings didn't help either.  Sibling rivalry was present between them just as it was among brothers and sisters everywhere.  Greg had often bitched about having to look after her when he wanted to go out with his friends instead; she had broken his CDs and invaded his privacy…sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.  And after growing up a bit, she could see how he could have kind of resented her.  She wouldn't have wanted a surprise baby making an appearance when she was just beginning her teenage years either.

            During college Greg had relished the fact that he could finally get away from nagging parents and an annoying sister.  He hadn't given much thought to keeping in touch with her during those four years; he was too busy with school and girls…more so with the latter.  It wasn't until he was out and in the working world that he thought about her often.  They'd had their rare moments where a ceasefire was called, and they got along.  And Greg now knew that the only reason why she hung around and bothered him all those years was because she looked up to him, and she'd admit that she'd thought he was the coolest person in the world…she still thought that now.  

Before she'd moved out to Vegas to live him, everyday at work when he'd open his locker, there on the door were school pictures of her throughout the years, and they would make him think of calling her.  But then he'd tell himself that she probably didn't want to hear from him; oh, how wrong he was.  Now, she lived with him and he got to see and talk to her everyday, and he was truly glad for that.

"How is everything over there?" her mother questioned.

"Great; everything's fine," she told her mother deciding against informing her of everything that was really going on.  There was no reason to worry her.

"Well, that's good to hear.  So you and Greg are getting along fine; that's good.  Are you two eating well?"

Faraday rolled her eyes.  Her mother and her nutritional concerns.  "Yeah, we eat food represented by all four food groups: fat, caffeine, sugar, and preservatives," she said sarcastically.  She looked up to see Greg roll his eyes and start to come into the living room where Faraday was now sitting on the couch with the phone.  She edged away toward the side of the couch and looked over at Greg.  He could tell she was about to do something she shouldn't; she had that mischievous Sanders gleam in her eyes.  He started toward the couch but by this time she'd gotten up and was now walking around the couch away from him.  

"And, y'know, something else, Mom?" she asked as she started to trot as Greg's longer legs had allowed him to almost catch up.  "Since living in Vegas," she said dodging Greg's grab for the phone.  "I've decided," dodge, "that I don't want to be an archaeologist anymore," dodge, "I want to be a showgirl!"

"Gimme the phone!" Greg cried diving over the back of the couch and grabbing the phone from his sister's hand.

Faraday laughed and headed for her room leaving her big brother to do "damage control" on their mother.  The last thing she heard before shutting the door was, "No, Mom, she's just being stupid."  Greg grinned, shook his head, and made a mental note that he would have to get her back for this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Archie wheeled aside in his chair to let Warrick and Catherine get a better view of the computer monitor.  

            "Looks like your theory doesn't pan out, Cath.  Brad was in on all of this," he said noting that the conversation took place between OhioStatePimp and somebody called Rogue2005.  "Oh, man, Archie, trace this guy's IP address!  We gotta find out where he lives!" Warrick commanded urgently.

            Archie nodded and wheeled quickly into place.

            "They dumped Blake's body on that guy's property," Catherine said grimly as she read down the conversation which had taken place before the kidnapping outlining where they'd dispose of her body.

            "They?" Warrick asked.  "This is Brad's screen name."

            "Yeah, I was going to mention that," Archie spoke up.  "But, more important matters first; I've traced this IP address to a home computer at 1712 Route 14, and his profile says his name is James Hanson."

            "That's a rural area; people who raise cattle and such live out there.  This guy could live on God knows how many acres!" Warrick exclaimed.

            Catherine pulled out her cell phone and dialed Grissom's number, not sparing the time to run around and look for him.  

            "Grissom," he answered.

            "Grissom," Catherine said urgency apparent in her voice.  "Grab Sara or Nick and a horde of cadets and get out to 1712 Route 14, now.  We think that's where Blake's body is."

            Grissom was silent for a moment.  Catherine knew that though they had all told themselves she'd probably been murdered and dumped somewhere by now, they'd all still held onto to at least a little scrap of hope that she'd be alright…until now.  "Ok," he finally spoke.

            Catherine flipped the top of her cell phone down and turned back to Warrick and Archie. 

            "What I was going to say was I don't think this Brad guy is the one doing the chatting with this Rogue character," Archie told the two of them.

            "But it's his screen name," Catherine pointed out.

            "Yes, but look at the typing patterns.  Normally, you can't put much stock in chat logs; of course you know they're not like looking at somebody's handwriting.  But, compared to the earlier chat logs between OhioStatePimp and various others, they don't look similar at all.  First of all, he never spoke to this guy in earlier chat sessions, and second, his typing is perfect, like he was typing a report for school.  Capitalization at the beginning of sentences, commas in the right place, periods; all in all, good grammar.  During this chat session he, or somebody using his name, rarely used correct grammar and seemed to separate thoughts with ellipses rather than periods.  This chat session looks quite similar to those conducted by one McKinleyPlaya," Archie explained pulling up a chat session under David's screen name.

            "So you're saying David used Brad's screen name, but how?  They're password protected," Catherine pointed out.

            "Normally, they are," Warrick told her.  "But now they have this option where you can click for the program to remember your password so you don't have to type it in each time you want to get on."

            "And Brad had his enabled," Archie informed them putting the final nail in the coffin.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Grissom's right foot was pressed to the floor of the Tahoe as he silently willed it to go faster; next to him sat Sara who gripped the arm rest as they hurtled down Route 14.  In front of them was Brass in his Taurus, his police lights flashing wildly and his siren wailing; behind them were members of the Las Vegas Police Department with their group of cadets.

            Ahead of him, Grissom saw Captain Brass pull sharply to the right and start down a private road, which was indicated by no trespassing signs.  Despite being a terrain vehicle, the Tahoe bounced and jostled violently over the uneven dirt road.  Once they'd pulled up relatively close to the house, Brass slid out of the car.  Grissom and Sara followed suit as did the police officers and cadets.

            "Start combing the entire property!" Brass shouted as if he were a war general commanding his troops.  He, along with Grissom and Sara, marched up to the house.  He angrily pounded on the door.  A young man with stringy, strawberry blonde hair and a goatee of the same color answered the door.

            "You James Hanson?" Brass barked.

            "Yeah, what is—"

            "You're under arrest for the kidnapping of Blake Abraham," Brass cut him off as he spun James around roughly and cuffed him.  He couldn't charge James with murder because he didn't know if he was the actual one who committed the crime, but, with further proof, Brass could get him for accessory to murder.  "You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."

            As Captain Brass continued to read the man his rights, Sara gestured with a nod toward the house.  "Let's get started."

            Grissom and Sara went over every inch of the farmhouse but didn't come up with anyclues that showed Blake had once been in it.  It wasn't until Sara wandered out back that she saw the F-150 truck.

            "I got a pick-up back here!" Sara called.  "The tire treads match the mold I made of the ones left behind at the Abrahams."

            "CSI Grissom!" a cadet called out.

            Grissom jerked his head toward the barn that was located about a eighty yards away.

            "I've found the girl!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Nick and Warrick sat in the interrogation room across from David Peterson and his attorney, their arms folded across their chests.  They were getting nowhere because the boy's attorney had advised him not to speak, and he wasn't.  In the next room, Detective Brass and Catherine were questioning James Hanson.  Nick was about to try again when he saw Brass outside the window waving at him to come outside.

            "Get anything outta that James guy?" Nick asked.

            "Yeah.  He's a student at UNLV, he inherited that ranch and a crapload of money from his father, he's David's boss at a local pizza parlor, a fellow Neo-Nazi, _and_ he sang like a canary," Brass informed him.  He relayed the entire statement James had given to the criminalist.  "They're going away for a long time," he finished.

            Nick nodded tight-lipped and then asked, "What about the ladder that wasn't present when we were initially on the scene but reappeared when Sara went back?"

            "James stole it, but then thought we might be able to trace it back to the Abrahams.  Guess he didn't think a _body found on his property would make him suspicious," Brass told him sarcastically.  Nick grunted and headed back into the interrogation room._

            "Guess what, David?" Nick asked rhetorically as he leaned forward, palms on the table.  "We got you."

            David looked up at Nick with a thinly disguised fear.

            "That's right; you're buddy ratted you out.  Let me tell you how it went down.  You found the note that a fellow student had written to Blake, probably just lying on the hallway floor.  It probably just fell out of Blake's backpack or she dropped it, whatever, and you mistook it for a piece of homework.  But once you read it, it made you angry didn't it?  Because you don't tolerate people who aren't straight, do you?  The note also mentioned that Blake's father was out of town for another two days, so you figured it'd be easier to get her without an adult present.  Now, you did give some thought to this or else you wouldn't have borrowed your brother's shoes, used his key, and worn the gloves, but you still did a half-assed job.  The reason why we found shoeprints matching your brother's shoes was because you didn't know the layout of the house, so you trekked through the kitchen searching for her room.

            "You wore your letter jacket which left small fibers on the floor of Blake's bedroom and on the floor of the tree house.  The ladder was underneath her window; that's how she initially got away from you, and she ran for the tree house.  You tried to climb up after her, didn't you?  That's why the corner of the first piece of wood that was nailed to the tree was broken.  When you realized you couldn't get in after her that way, you grabbed the ladder from under her window and climbed up that.  You're what, six two?  The tree house walls are only seven feet tall; it wouldn't be hard to climb over and into the tree house.  That's when you tore the sleeve of your jacket, leaving a piece of material hanging on a nail.  Now, it would probably be a lot harder climbing _out_ of the tree house as climbing in with that added weight, not to mention that Blake was probably kicking and struggling," Nick paused glaring at the boy in front of him.  "So you passed her off to James who was waiting at the top of the ladder; then the two of you put her in his truck and drove out to his house.  Our investigation of his truck will prove that later.  You were going to kill her, but you chickened out.  You hadn't planned that far, so James tied her up and put her in his _barn_, keeping her alive waiting for you to decide what you were going to do with her!" Nick shouted pounding on the table with one fist. 

            "The dyke deserves to die!" David growled with rage.

            David's attorney looked at his client in astonishment and then turned to the two criminalists.  "F-for the record, my client made that statement against legal counsel," he said quietly. 

Next to where Nick was standing, Warrick sat looking at David with bitter disgust.  Nick, not wanting to be in the same room as this kid, turned and left the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            "She's going to be ok soon, physically anyway," Sara spoke into her cell phone as she watched an ambulance cart off a very weak and psychologically battered Blake to the hospital.  "Emotionally and mentally, who knows how long that could take.  We'll see you when we get back to the lab," she said before closing her cell phone.

            Grissom looked at her questioningly.

            "Greg," she answered indicating who she'd called.  "I figured he'd want to tell Faraday that her best friend is safe now, for the most part.  There's always the memories though.  Y'know, it never ceases to amaze me," she commented her voice shaky with disbelief, little pools of tears forming in her eyes.

            "What?" Grissom inquired gently.

            "The things kids do."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Well, that's it…it's been one hell of a ride.  You didn't really think I'd kill her off, did you?  Now you know where the title comes from.  I enjoyed writing for you guys; thank you for being so supportive of my debut into fanfiction.  I've kind of got the outline for my next fic worked out, but I don't know when I'm going to start posting.  I kind of like to have things fleshed out a bit, so I can keep updating regularly.  I can tell you it will have a corpse because I missed Doc Robbins :).   Also, I don't think Faraday is ever going to make a reappearance in upcoming fics; I don't want to habitually stray from canon…but I'm glad she was well received by everyone.  Once again, vielen Dank :); it was a pleasure. *bow*


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